


Sivaas

by AramaniPantera (IceTalon)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Ancient Mourning Customs, Assassin Family, Assassin!Tony, Assassins & Hitmen, Blacksmithing, Brother/Sister Protectiveness, Brotherhood, Can you find which ones?, Dancing, F/F, Howard is not abusive in this one, M/M, Mentor/Student Closeness, Merely distant, Minor Character Death, Original Characters - Freeform, Quite a few of those, Sensitive Emotional Subjects, Sister!Pepper, Slash, Some words used are dragonic, Tony has a lovely singing voice, Tony is good with animals, Tony is surprisingly good for publicity after the Chitauri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceTalon/pseuds/AramaniPantera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has borne many titles in his life. The Merchant of Death. Billionaire. Playboy. Genius. Hero. Many believe that his title of Iron Man will be the one he takes to the grave. But Tony knows better. For Tony bore another name, one that struck terror into all that heard it. Sah Sunvaar. Phantom Hunter. The Fox. An Assassin of the highest caliber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Midnight Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Mandatory Warnings and Disclaimers: This is a story about assassins and their jobs, as well as about superheroes and their jobs. There be massive amounts of violence ahead, so be wary of disturbing imagery both spoken by the assassins and committed by the assassins. This is a slash story and will be TonyxOC, CoulsonxClint and PepperxNatasha. Please be warned for the following triggers: Minor Character Death(Off-Screen), discussion of the crime of Rape, Murder and Assault, Semi-Graphic Depictions and/or Descriptions of Violence, sensitive emotional issues and slash. All have been warned. If any of this squicks you, please skip those parts. I don't not own any publicly recognizable characters. Major and Minor OCs belong to myself, as well as the plot.
> 
> Thank you for reading and heeding this Mandatory Warnings and Disclaimers announcement. Enjoy the story and please review.

Raan Do Sivaas.

The Order of the Beasts.

It is a name whispered both fearfully and reverently around the world. An order of highly trained assassins, funded and protected in secret by the highest authority in all of the world, established and integrated into society over centuries. Known for their stealth, creativity and willingness to do anything or go anywhere, these beast-masked assassins inspire terror in all those who know of them.

Intelligent and physically able children are hand-picked by observers within the government and the Order begins the delicate process of turning children into hunters in barely over thirteen years. On May the first, of the year 1983, Howard and Maria Stark brought a bouncing baby boy into the world. On that day, neither parent knew that one day that boy would be a genius, a billionaire, a hero, an assassin. The story of Tony Stark is one that is long and colored.

This is that story.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Howard Stark was thinking. Granted, that was something he did often, but this fit of introspection was intense and all-consuming. On the floor in front of him, playing intently with a puzzle, was his three-year-old son, Tony. And therein lay the source of his consternation.

He was...concerned. Tony was a late baby, and he and Maria had him later than they thought they would have a child. Tony was also terribly intelligent. But that pleased Howard, knowing his son had inherited his intelligence. But Howard was faced with a terrible possibility. Tony, as the son of Howard Stark, founder of SHIELD and billionaire proprietor of his own company, would be the target of kidnappers the world over.

Now, this could easily be remedied by supplying his son with a bodyguard when he left the house but guards could be bought off by assailants with the means to do so. And then...there was the Order. Howard shivered. The Beasts. Assassins. Howard knew of them. Of course he did. They were unmistakable. Government officials, CEOs, magnates, crime lords and criminals lived with the terror that one may come after them.

And they wanted to recruit his son.

Oh, he knew they recruited the children of people with connections to the government. Heard the whispers from his fellow CEOs and consultants and the dignitaries from other countries, visited in the dead of night by animal-masked spectors. Howard shuddered as he remembered his own visit only the night before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Howard was sitting at the desk in his shop, poring over a new set of blueprints for an improved rifle in front of him. Outside the window snow fell heavily, and he was thankful for the generators that kept the heat and lights on while the other homes outside the city sat in a blackout. So absorbed was he in his work, he didn’t notice his visitor until they cleared their throats._

_“Howard Stark.” The voice was deep, laced with a german accent and slightly muffled. Howard spun in his chair and nearly flailed in panic. The man behind him was tall, clothed in an ebony tunic and pants bordered in crimson, matching sleeveless tabard and cloak caked with snow. His face was obscured by the hood of his tabard and the mask of what Howard assumed was a jackal, and Howard froze._

_Sunvaar. Hunter. A member of the Beasts. In his house. In his shop._

_“Peace, Mister Stark. I am here with no ill will. If you were an assignment, we would not be having this conversation. I am only here to talk.” The man rumbled, the sightless eyes of the mask staring back at Howard, before the inventor nodded. Howard got the impression of a smile from the man and he watched the hunter reach into a pouch that hung off a belt at his hip, coming back with a scroll._

_“It came to our attention, three years ago, that your wife gave birth to your son. Young Tony turned three eight months ago. He’s very bright, your Tony is. His intelligence and his energy are very...important qualities that my Aak is looking for.” Howard felt as if ice water had poured down his spine._

_“What are you getting at?” He asked lowly, hands tightening on his knees. The hunter snorted and tossed him the scroll from his place across the room. Howard caught it, barely, and turned it over in his hands. It was decorated black, bordered and patterned in crimson and the paper felt smooth and thick in his hands. It was sealed with red wax, stamped with what Howard assumed to be the Order’s insignia, two crossed blades with a wolf’s head over top._

_“I believe you know exactly what I’m getting at, Mister Stark. However, in the end, the decision lies completely with you and your wife. We will not steal a child to be trained against their parent’s wishes.” The hunter spoke lowly. “Within the scroll is the method of contacting us, once you make your choice. You have four days, Mister Stark.” And with that, the hunter swept out of the room in a furl of his cloak and the soft scuffing of his boots on the floor._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Now, Howard palmed the scroll in his hands and watched Tony intently as he successfully completed his second puzzle of the hours, and moved readily onto the third. Mind made up, Howard broke the seal on the scroll and began to read. He’d tell Maria his choice in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A month later, there was a heavy knock on the door, and both Jarvis and the maid were surprised when Howard answered it himself, Tony trotting behind as he tried to keep up with his father. The door opened to reveal a tall man with a head of spiky black hair and razor sharp blue eyes, which stood out against his barely-tanned skin brilliantly. He carried a duffel and a backpack sat comfortably on his shoulders.

“Mister Stark? I’m Alexander Norgaard, Tony’s teacher.” He was young, Howard noted, probably no more than twenty-five, and his voice possessed an odd sing-song quality that Howard associated with those he’d met from Scandinavia, though his cadence most likely suggested Norway. Howard shook himself back to the present and made a sound of assent. 

“Yes, please come in, Mister Norgaard.” He said. Alexander chuckled and stepped inside, smiling brightly. “Maryann, please take Mister Norgaard’s bags up to his room. It is the one to the left of Tony’s.” Howard ordered. The maid nodded and approached Alexander, who looked slightly discomfited at having his bags stowed away for him, though he thanked the maid gratefully and she smiled back kindly. “Shall we move this to the study, Mister Norgaard?”

“Just Alexander will do, Mister Stark. It’ll be a long ten twelve years if you call me Mister Norgaard all the time.” Alexander spoke lightly and Howard was surprised by the warmth that suffused the younger man’s voice. How was it possible that an assassin, one that had seen many years of death and been the dealer of a percent of those, could still be this warm? Before he answered Howard’s question though, he knelt down to Tony’s level and smiled. “Well hello there, _Lille Valpen_. You wouldn’t happen to be Tony, would you?”

Tony shyly hid behind his father’s legs, but giggled and smiled at what he thought was a nickname. He nodded. “I’m Tony!” He said brightly, coming from behind his father’s legs and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mister Alexander!” He chirped brightly, and Alexander marveled at how developed his word pronunciation was. This child was truly smarter than almost any other on the planet.

“And it is nice to meet you, _Lille Valpen_.” Alexander shook the tiny toddler’s hand and Tony practically beamed back at him with blinding enthusiasm. Howard was looking in silent surprise before he tapped Tony lightly on the head with two fingers. 

“Run along, Tony. I promise that you can speak with Alexander later and tonight, we shall go to the shop and you can help me.” Tony nodded to both adults and went hurtling away, almost tripping over his socks as he ran towards Jarvis, asking permission to go outside and play.

Alexander followed Howard into the study, where the maid had put out a tray of tea and cakes, and both men settled into the comfortable chairs, before Howard leaned forward, steepling his fingers and gazing at Alexander intently. “Tell me, Alexander, what are the Order’s plans concerning my son?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After that day, time flew by in the Stark household, and Howard and Maria watched as Tony learned and grew, almost completely under the tutelage of Alexander. Tony adored Alexander and Alexander adored Tony, and most of the time both mentor and student could be found together. Howard was astounded at how _absolutely subtle_ Alexander’s training was. He had expected physical training, complicated thought exercise, anything but what he actually got.

All through the remainder of Tony’s third year and well into the fourth Alexander focused on teach Tony patience through board games like Operation, strategy through games like Battleship. He taught him to read and do math, though Tony was much smarter than any other kid his age. Alexander took him on long walks, or played manic bouts of tag in the yard. And it hit Howard, like a ton of bricks.

These men and women were geniuses. They integrated training directly into the child’s everyday activities, so it was no different than an average day, but with underlying meaning. Even now, as Howard watched the yard swarming with children, he had to smile slightly. Maria and Jarvis had worried that Tony wouldn’t be getting enough interaction with other children his age, but Alexander and Howard had already devised a plan.

Since his fourth birthday, Alexander had been arranging play dates with the other children from the Order that were Tony’s age. Many of these children were orphans or their parents had turned their care over completely to the mentors and they could travel freely. And so, Howard would open rooms for the mentor-children pairs, and watch as his son enjoyed the company of the other children.

Alexander had explained that all the kids that visited, thirteen of them, were all Tony’s age and part of his class, and most likely be the group of assassins Tony would work most closely with if he passed his tests. They were all Tony’s age, of every shape, size and ethnicity. 

Tony got along best with two little boys, one named Brad, whose parents were foreign dignitaries for the US in Sweden and the other named Robert, whose parents held over eighty percent of the stock in a weapons manufacturing company in England. Both boys had visited with their mentors at the same time, and almost immediately hit it off with Tony the minute they were through the door.

Now they were thick as thieves, and Howard worried for the sanity of his house staff when he heard the kids were all staying for a week. Howard looked up as Alexander’s voice spoke, and silence fell. Tony was sitting on the grassy ground, surrounded by still-wrapped gifts. Alexander had something long and rectangular in his hands, which he presented to Tony with a flourish.

“Now, _Lille Valpen_ , this is a gift from everyone here, including your parents. Go on, open it.” He encouraged when Tony’s fingers hovered over the paper in hesitance. Tony pulled off the paper with care, which revealed a long, ornate box. The wood was dark and smooth, and Tony opened it gently, before breaking out into a smile that lit up his entire face.

Inside, set in dark black velvet, was a carefully crafted bow with a dozen arrows. Both the bow and arrows were obviously handmade, from the fletching of the arrows to the elegant carvings that wreathed around the bow itself. Tony had expressed interest and enthusiasm to take up archery after he’d seen Alexander practicing in the yard, the six-year-old noticing the strength and intelligence it took to score a perfect shot.

And it hit Howard. Subtly wasn’t an option anymore. In two years, Tony would begin spending time at the Assassin’s Den, with the rest of his classmate’s as their mentors readied themselves to throw them headlong into the Order. Alexander thought it was time to stop beating around the bush.

And that thought terrified Howard to no end.


	2. The Den of The Beasts

On a cold and snowy night, in the January of Tony’s eighth year, Alexander came to a decision. The Order left it up to the Mentors when to reveal the true purpose of their student’s training when they thought they were ready. Alexander knew Tony was brilliant, of that there was no doubt, but he had reserves about telling someone not even eight years old they were training to be an assassin. Now, only a few months away from his student’s ninth birthday, and only a single month away from the day they’d head for the Assassin’s Den, where Tony and the rest of his class would begin hardcore training, Alexander knew that the time was then.

And so, after the Stark household had broken from dinner, Alexander went up to his room and pulled a small wooden case about the size of a text book out of his dresser drawer. He held it close and walked down the steps slowly. Maria and Tony were sitting in the living room, watching the evening news and Alexander could hear the crackling of the fire from the study, and he knew where Howard was. He padded into the study, socked feet silent on the hardwood, and cleared his throat.

“Mister Stark?” He asked. The set of Howard’s shoulders tensed. Howard had told Alexander to call him by his first name after his first week, and Alexander only addressed him as “Mister Stark” if something was wrong or something serious had come up.

“The last time you called me that, Tony had fallen out of that tree and broken his arm. What is it, Alexander?” Howard asked, looking up from his desk. Howard had aged since Alexander had arrived some five and half years ago. His hair was now more salt than pepper and the earthen brown of his eyes had become muddier with exhaustion.

Alexander held up the case. “It’s time, Mister Stark.” He said softly. Howard nodded stiffly, eyes tightening. This was the make or break point for Tony. If he rejected the training, Alexander would leave immediately and Tony would be under surveillance for the rest of his life to make sure he didn’t give Alexander away. Howard rose from his desk.

“I’ll let you use this room. I’ll send him in.” Alexander nodded and moved to one of the high backed chairs in front of the fire. There was movement behind him and then the patter of small feet on the ground. Tony flung himself into the chair across from him with a smile. Alexander grinned back.

“What’s up Alexander?” Tony chirped.

“Well, _Lille Valpen_ , you and I need to have a conversation. You are very smart, Tony, and I’m sure you’ve noticed what I teach you is not what other children your age are taught.” Tony nodded, though his eyes had narrowed and he was holding himself straight and attentive. Alexander brought the case to sit on the small table between the chairs and he opened it carefully. 

Inside, resting on dark crimson velvet, was a mask. Tony had no idea what it was made of, but it looked strong, though the ebony paint bore the marks of use in the form of scratches, almost like scars, all across it. The crimson outlines, lain ever-so-carefully in a pattern, formed the striped, feline face of what Tony recognized as a tiger. The muzzle of the mask rose away from the rest of the face, and artistic whisker-like lines of crimson sat upon it. Tony lay a careful hand upon it and shivered lightly.

“I want to tell you a story Tony. The story of a man, long ago, in a land far across the sea....”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hours later, when Alexander finished, he and Tony sat silently in the study. The maid had brought in hot chocolate for both and Alexander’s sat empty, while Tony still clutched his own mug, staring sightlessly into the fire. The mask was sitting in his lap and occasionally he would look down at it.

“Assassins?” He asked, voice strangely quiet.

“Yes. Our Aak, the Guide of the Order, she chooses the novices every five years. Your father has many dealings with the government, and that brought her gaze upon you. She, and I and even the others who have met you, see great promise in you.” But Alexander’s words seemed to fall flat in on themselves as Tony kept staring blankly at his cup. After a time, Tony spoke.

“Are we done?” He asked.

Alexander took the mask off of Tony’s lap and the young man set his mug on the table before settling on his feet. “I’m going to bed.” He announced flatly, his voice devoid of his usual enthusiasm. Alexander bit his lip. Had he broken Tony’s trust in everyone around him? They’d known something of such massive gravity and hid it from him and, no matter that’s they’d withheld the information for the boy’s own good, it was still a blow.

“Alright, _Lille Valpen_. We’ll talk in the morning. Sleep well.” Alexander said as Tony turned on his heels and headed for the door.

For the first time in over five years, Tony went to bed without saying goodnight to anyone and, with that, Alexander knew the next few days were going to be rough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Much as Alexander feared, Tony was silent and distant for almost a week after their conversation. He constantly appeared to be deep in thought, oftentimes running into things like walls and furniture. He continued to exercise every morning as well as practice his archery and his afternoons were filled with the homework Alexander left him on the table at breakfast. He helped his father in the workshops in the evenings and watched the news with his mother. Jarvis made sure Tony had what he wanted and needed at all times, though it was hardly a chore as Tony, just shy of nine years old, was almost completely self-sufficient when it came to everything except doing his own laundry and cooking his own meals.

Throughout it all, Alexander remained, a quiet presence in the house. There, and yet, at the same time, not there.

Finally on the sixth day since their conversation, a particularly dark, windy and all around horrid day outside, Tony ambled into the den where Alexander was tending his own bow, two steaming mugs in his hands. He set one on the table in front of Alexander, between his oil and his quiver, and kept the other for himself, easing onto the couch next to Alexander’s chair. There were several moments of silence before Tony spoke.

“Assassins.” He said, though this time the word was a statement, rather than a question. Alexander lay his bow carefully on the table and grabbed his mug before easing himself back into his own chair. Nodding softly, Alexander’s green eyes met the light hazel eyes of his students. Tony seemed to mull something over for a minute before he spoke.

“I get why and I get how. But the who. Kids. My age. I’m only eight years old.” He said. Alexander twitched. Sometimes having a genius for a student sucked. While Tony had much to learn in academics and such, the boy was an emotional compass, his time at his father’s parties and meetings attuning him to human emotions morals. It was kind of creepy how insightful he was.

“Yes. The Order, no, we the mentors and the Aak herself believe that if we introduce both the doctrine of the Order and of assassins as well as normal childhood lessons into our students early enough, they have a chance at returning to normal society when they decide to retire. But even then, one must remember that no one ever really leaves the Order. If they don’t die in action, they generally stop taking assignments after five or six years. Some take up jobs at the Den, some go into the workforce and some do both.”

“What do you do?” Tony asked, drinking from his cup and watching Alexander closely. Alexander smiled and ran his free hand through his hair before he answered.

“I’m an accountant for the Order, your mentor and I officially retired from my position of “Hunter” four months ago. I went to college for two years, and I was active with the Order from my fifteenth year to my twenty-second. Now, on top of teaching you, I handle the finances of the Order with three other people. We make sure the assassin’s get paid after their assignments and that the Order has enough money for what they need to buy from outside sources.”

Tony was nodding quietly, fingers playing idly over the smooth ceramic of his mug, and Alexander almost grinned when he recognized the mathematical equations for the Archer’s Paradox for weather similar to today’s. “I want to. I mean...I can always change my mind later, right? You won’t kill me if I decide to quit?” He asked.

Alexander shook his head. “No, you can quit at any time. If you quit before you complete any assignments, you sign a lot of paperwork that basically says if you tell about the Order, they’ll take everything you own. Every last red cent. If you’ve completed any assignments, then you just retire.” Tony was nodding slowly, his brain processing everything he was being told. At this stage, he and Howard were pretty sure Tony had the mental capacity of someone twice his age or more. Finally, Tony nodded once in assurance.

“I accept.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three weeks later, Tony was helping Alexander load bags into the cargo hold of a small private plane. He’d said goodbye to his parents over an hour ago, his mother in tears and Howard sending him off with a firm hand on his shoulder and the assurance that Tony would make him proud, no matter the outcome. Tony had packed most of his belongings, clothes, books on engineering from his father, a dark blue knit blanket from his mother and his bow case into a duffel and a backpack

Alexander finished loading the bags and closed and locked the hatch before leading Tony up the stairs and into the cabin of the plane. The plane, a model of his father’s own design, was lavishly appointed and both mentor and student sank into the comfortable chairs with audible sighs. They buckled up when indicated, sat through the take-off protocols delivered to them by a man in his thirties, and accepted the drinks when the same flight attendant came around ten minutes after they were in the air.

It took just over five and a half hours before the plane landed at the airstrip near Lake Margaret in northern Alberta, Canada and in that time, Alexander reviewed the Archer’s Paradox with Tony, taught him the Archer’s Prayer until he had it memorized and went over what would occur when they reached the Den. Tony slept the last hour and a half and, after they’d set down on the tarmac at the airstrip, Alexander gently woke Tony and both disembarked from the plane.

A ways away from the tarmac, both could make out a small group of people milling about what appeared to be three wagons, all of which were hitched to two massive horses each. Tony and Alexander grabbed their belongings and moved over to the group, which Tony recognized as Robert, Brad and Anatassia, as well as their mentors. Anatassia was a red-headed spitfire of a girl from Siberia and Tony, Brad and Robert thought she was pretty awesome.

Anatassia, an orphan, was discovered when she attempted to pickpocket her mentor, and almost succeeded, even only at age two. Her mentor, a gruff, but kindly Japanese teenager by the name of Hatsuharu, had volunteered to retire early and mentor the little girl, even after only four active years. Now, the four exchanged quick high-fives while Tony threw his bags in the last wagon in the line.

Anatassia had only begun visiting the Stark household the year before, as her unusual adoption had made procuring her papers legally nigh on impossible. But finally, after six years stuck in Siberia with her mentor, she had free traveling rights. When she’d first shown up in the middle of Brad and Robert’s usual visit nine months ago, the boys had at first been wary. But Anatassia fit right in and now the four of them were attached at the hip.

Now, the four of them were in their own little bubble, which slowly expanded as more students arrived with their mentors until the group numbered fifteen students. They were talking animatedly, so absorbed were they in their own conversations with each other about the upcoming events that, when one of the mentor’s whistled sharply to get their attention, every last student jumped about a foot in the air, much to the amusement of their teachers.

“Alright.” The mentor shouted and the students turned to face her. “I want every last one of you in the front wagon. Don’t lean over the edges, don’t play with the hatches on the back please. We don’t want anyone falling over. It’s cold and it’s snowy. If you get cold, use the buffalo lap robes so you don’t freeze. The path is steep and icy, please don’t distract your drivers. There will be plenty of time to ask questions later. Good?”

There was a resounding cry of “Yes, Ma’am!” from the students and, one by one, they piled into the large wagon. The wagon box was padded with hay and pelts and, stacked against the end underneath the driver’s seat was another pile of pelts, these much softer and warmer looking. These were passed around and draped over laps and wrapped around shoulders while Alexander and another mentor closed and latched the back of the wagon.

Tony shared two lap robes with Anatassia, one over their laps and the other wrapped around their shoulders while across from them so did Rob and Brad. Students huddled together in groups of twos and threes, wrapped up in the pelts, and their animated conversations seemed to warm them against the harsh Canadian winter that swirled around them. 

The mountain path leading upwards was winding and the wagons kept a steady pace through the afternoon until, an hour after leaving the airstrip, the wagons pulled up in front of what looked to be a hunting lodge. The students rose to their feet in excitement, and slight confusion, and milled about in the wagon box until Alexander and Hatsuharu released the latch on the back. The students jumped out and moved towards the last wagon in the line again, grabbing out their bags.

Tony grabbed his duffel and backpack and padded over to where Alexander was standing next to the other mentors, Brad and Anatassia right behind him. Once all the students were standing in a group the teachers ushered them up the stairs and into the lodge, the directly over to the fireplace. 

Tony and his fellow classmates were looking at the fireplace in confusion until one of the mentors, a young woman with blonde hair and snappy green eyes, pressed one of the bricks. There was a groaning sound of stone on stone and the fireplace moved backwards and then to the side. Revealed to them was a massive stone passage, lit brightly by overhead lights. The path went straight for a few yards before sloping downwards.

“Oh wow!” Tony gasped, eyes lighting up in awe. Anatassia looked at him in confusion so Tony elaborated for her. “The den is built into the mountain! I’ve only heard about this in books!” He could barely contain his excitement as he looked around him, already calculating how large the den was and how far back the tunnels were. Tony looked up as Alexander placed a firm hand on his shoulder, smiling.

“Where do you think those authors got the idea, _Lille Valpen_?” Alexander squeezed his shoulder before he led the group down the path. The students were strangely quiet as they were led down the passage and into a large anteroom. The anteroom was large and almost circular, with four more passages leading away from it. The students dropped their bags and looked around them awe.

Moving with ease and grace through the hall were kids only a few years older than they themselves were, dressed in white, loose-fitting tunics and pants. Some wore socks and sandals or boots, but a majority were barefoot. Among them were teenagers and young adults dressed in a black version of the tunic and pants, with crimson bordering.

But what most of the students found amazing were the assassins that moved silently through the hall. They were dressed in the black and crimson clothes of the others, sleeveless hooded tabards fluttering as they walked. They were armed, some with guns, some with blades and one noticeable woman, horned deer mask hanging from a loop on her belt, carrying a deadly looking spear.

Tony was astounded. These were people, just like him, trained from when they were children to be this deadly. This is what he training for. This was what he was going to be doing someday. Tony shivered minutely as he felt a wave of nerves flash through him. What if he failed? What if he screwed up? He bit his lip tightly, jumping when he felt a soft hand on his elbow.

“Something wrong, ‘Nio?” Anatassia asked, her voice quiet. Tony shook his head, smiling softly as her. Anatassia had been calling him Antonio since day one, even though she knew his name was Anthony, and he took it as a sign of affection, even moreso when she shortened it down to “‘Nio”.

“No, I’m fine, ‘Tass.” He mumbled. Anatassia nodded and Brad and Robert thumped him on the back. The other kids were looking almost as nervous as he was and he felt a little better about it. Now that they were standing in front of the mentors, who were lined up in ranks with Alexander standing at the front. The other people had stopped to stare at the proceedings, most smiling in anticipation of what was about to happen.

Alexander whistled sharply and all noise in the anteroom stopped, attention immediately turning towards him. “Drop your bags against the wall and rank up, three across and five deep.” He ordered, voice quiet and deep, but holding authority. The students scrabbled to obey and, once they were lined up as ordered, Alexander nodded in approval.

“I want to take this chance to welcome you all to the assassin’s den. The Raan Do Sivaas has been using this den for over two hundred years and now you have become a part of that tradition. On this day, you officially become novices. We’re going to step up your training now, and soon, you’ll be assassins in your own right. I guess there’s only one last thing to say.” Alexander grinned, thrilled, his actions echoed by the mentors behind him.

“Welcome to the den of The Beasts.”


	3. Fond and Not-So-Fond Memories

“Oh ‘Nio. Wake up ‘Nio.” Tony groaned in his sleep, batting uselessly at the air. “Come on ‘Nio. You promised to take the cart down to the airstrip and pick up Alistair’s shipment of steel.” Tony groaned again, though he pulled himself out of his bed and rubbed his eyes. He froze when giggling reached his ears and he pulled his hands away in order to see where the noise was coming from.

Standing across the room from him, standing in front of the screen that covered her own bed, was Anatassia, who was giggling at him and smiling. Confused, Tony looked down and noticed he was dressed only in a pair of soft cotton pajamas with reindeer across them. He blushed brightly and stuck his tongue out at the girl across from him.

“Shut up, ‘Tassa. What are you, fourteen or four?” He hissed, still blushing brightly as he strode over to the trunk at the foot of the bunk beds he and Brad shared, flipping it open and pulling out a white tunic and pants. Anatassia only laughed at him harder as he tried to walk with dignity over to the basin of water that sat near the fireplace.

The water was still hot, which meant the roomkeepers had just filled it not too long ago. This was confirmed for him when he noticed that, across the room, Robert was still asleep in his bed and, on the top bunk of the set that Tony just rolled out of, Brad was dead to the world. Once he was done scrubbing his face, Anatassia disappeared behind the screen that separated her bed from the rest of the room, and Tony took the chance to step out of his pajama bottoms and pull on his tunic and pants. 

He grabbed a pair of socks and his boots from next to the foot locker and sat at one of the benches that resided next to the table that took up the middle of the room. Normally, during the day when he was inside, Tony wore nothing on his feet. The only time he wore boots was during weapons training, free-running training and when he was working the stables or with his blacksmithing mentor, Alistair, in the forge.

One the bench across the tables, Anatassia was just finishing up and, when both were ready, they made for the doors. Tony stopped in the doorway though, looking back at the fire. It was early spring, and the stone rooms usually required a fire at all times still. It was Sunday, the one day the students usually slept in and, if Tony didn’t bank the coals around the fire, it might go out before the other two occupants of the room awoke to feed the flames.

“Come on, ‘Nio. Robert’s going to wake up in half an hour, remember? He’s going fishing with his mentor.” Tony nodded in remembrance and followed his companion down the hall and into the antechamber before turning left and going down the passage next to the one they’d just come out of. This passage opened up into the great hall. The great hall was massive, filled with tables and connected to it were the kitchens.

Waiting for them near the buffet, which was just being filled with food for breakfast, were Hatsuharu and Alexander, both holding a basket and smiling. Today would be the first day that both Tony and Anatassia made a solo run down to airstrip. They’d made the trip before with their mentors or with whoever they were picking up supplies for but, with their fifteenth birthdays fast approaching for both, Tony’s in May and Anatassia’s in June, their mentor’s were cutting them major slack now.

Alexander handed Tony his basket and nodded. “Now, _Lille Valpen_ , it’s chilled out, so you might want to take your cloak with you and the bears have been spotted nearby, so I want you to check out a Winchester from the armory, just in case. The cooks packed you breakfast and lunch, and you’ll be home in time for dinner.” Tony nodded sharply and clasped hands with his mentor once before he and Anatassia stepped back and went back up the passage.

They went down the next passage over and passed all of the classrooms and training rooms, the former of which would lie empty for the day, into the armory beyond, which was manned twenty-four/seven, in case someone was called out on assignment or came back from one. Tony and Anatassia both checked out a .30-06 and a box of ammo from the woman behind the counter before they turned around again and left.

This time, when they reached the anteroom, they kept going up until they reached the secret entry to the hunting lodge that acted as a cover for the den. Neither were terribly surprised when they saw an assassin sitting on the couch, asleep with his dog mask on his lap, clutching his sword like it was a life-line. 

Sunvaar Dog, or Brett Hatel, was a young assassin who’d retired, spent four years away, and then come back and resumed his job. He was well-liked among both the novices and the assassins and he’d been on assignment only the night before. Tony pulled an afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over the sleeping assassin before he and Anatassia trotted out the door. 

The air was pleasant and only a slight breeze moved the air around them as they crossed the fields that spanned to the left of the hunting lodge. A quarter mile away, hidden behind a line of trees were two buildings. One was the size of a small house, and a constant stream of smoke billowed out of it. Tony knew that, inside, the walls were reinforced with stone and the floor was bare. This was the forge, where Tony spent most of his Saturdays and some of his evenings.

Across from it was a massive building, long and low with cream walls and a red roof. This was the stables for the horses, an arena and the tack room. This was their destination. Out front were two wagons, similar to the ones they’d ridden on the first day they came to the den, nearly six years ago. These were slightly bigger and the sides didn’t come up as high as the ones they used to transport people. Instead of a back panel, there were a few bungee cords to act as the backing. 

Tony left his rifle, loaded and on safety, in a little niche on the footboard where the driver sat and slipped his ammo box and basket into the small box where the second seat would have gone at the back of the wagon box. Once that was done, he turned towards Anatassia, who’d set up her wagon in a similar manner. “I’m going to take Odin and Zeus. Who are you taking?” He asked. Anatassia seemed to think about it for a minute before she shrugged. 

“Probably Apollo. I’m only picking up a small load of medicine and supplies, so I don’t need a full team.” Tony nodded and headed into the stables, breathing in the smell of warm hay and grain. The stables were filled with the massive Shire horses they used to pull the wagons, the small riding mounts many of the assassin’s owned and the oxen they used for exceptionally heavy loads. Beyond that was a large, sectioned off area of the stables, where the horse tack was kept and, beyond that, the equestrian arena and the entrance to the massive fields.

Tony’s own horse, a four-year-old grullo colored Irish Sport Horse stallion, whom he’d named Achilles, was out in the pastures today, but Tony stopped at his stall anyway to grab the spare cloak he kept there before heading back into the tack room. He moved down the rows of pleasant-smelling leather until he came to the hooks the held Odin and Zeus’ harnesses. He pulled those down and hefted them onto his shoulders before moving into the arena, where there was a stepping block.

On the way back through the tack room he grabbed two lead ropes and then made his way down the halls to where the Shire horses were kept, on the right side of the big building, down the second hallway. He stopped in the middle of two stalls and smiled brightly. “Good morning, Odin, Zeus. How are we this morning?” He asked. 

Odin and Zeus were twins, both massive at over six and a half feet at the tops of their shoulders, and chestnut in color. They were one of the older tandem teams the Order used. Between them, they could pull well over three tons, though all they were pulling today was two tons. Tony slid the door to Odin’s stall open first and leaned up on his tiptoes to clip the lead rope to the ring on the side of his halter. 

Odin followed him placidly down the halls and then through the roundabout door that led a path around the tack room and into the arena. He tied Odin to the post, climbed up the block and made quick work of harnessing the massive horse. He’d been working in the stables since he was nine, learning about all the horses that made their homes there and how to care for them. Harnessing Odin was child’s play at this point.

Once Odin was ready Tony lead him outside and hooked him to the left side of the wagon he was using for the rest of the day. On his way back inside to get Zeus, Odin under the watch of a stable hand who’d come to do chores, he saw Anatassia slipping out of one the horse stalls in the center aisle. “How’s Loreena? She feeling any better?” He asked.

Anatassia nodded. “Phil says she’ll be fit to ride again in a week. She’s tired this morning though.” Tony nodded and Anatassia followed him over to the aisle where Tony lead Zeus out and into the arena. By the time he had Zeus ready to go and he was easing himself up into the wagon, Anatassia had her own wagon ready. Both smiled and nodded and Tony took up the reins of his horses and snapped them twice. “Giddap!” He shouted and both horses leaned forward, the wagon starting with a lurch before they set a nice pace down the mountain path.

Tony remembered back to the day he’d first arrived and couldn’t help but smile. The path was not nearly as steep as the mentor had told them and Tony smiled warmly as he remembered the rest of that day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Tony’s overwhelmed when the mentor’s lead them down the farthest path to the right, explaining that this path leads to the dorms and apartments of the assassins and novices. After a short while of walking, they stop in front of a group of four opened doors. “Alright. Pick your roommates and remember: These are your roommates until you’re fifteen, at least.”_

_For Tony and his friends, it was no complicated problem to figure out who was rooming with who. Tony, Brad, Robert and Anatassia stood in a tight group in front of one of the open doors, smiling brightly at their mentors, who were shaking their heads in fond exasperation. “Everyone got roommates? Good, pick a dorm and take your bags inside. You have an hour to get unpacked, changed into your new clothes and get settled.”_

_The students nodded grabbed up their bags before moving into the rooms. Tony gaped. The rooms themselves were massive in size. Directly across from them was a fireplace, which crackled merrily. Dominating the wall to the left of the entrance was a set of bunk beds, with a large, dark trunk on both ends. Tucked up near the door on the right side was a bed and, down on the same wall, was another bed._

_A weapons rack sat between the bed on the right side and the fireplace and a wash basin separated the bunks and the fireplace. Anatassia choose the bed near the fireplace, Robert the one near the door and between himself and Brad, both quickly decided which bunks they were going to have._

_Tony chose the bottom bunk and heaved his duffel and backpack onto the mattress before he unzipped them both and opened the footlocker nearest the fireplace. Inside were folded up tunics and pants, made of white linen like they’d seen the other novices wearing earlier. There were also pairs of socks rolled on top. Tony pulled these out and lay them all on top of the sheets and pillows that were stacked at the foot of his bunk._

_He stashed all of the clothes from his duffel into the bottom of the trunk, placed his books and photos on top of those and then replaced all of the clothes besides a single pair over that. He snapped the footlocker shut and then went about making his bed. The sheets and blankets were thick and warm and there were two thick pillows, which he placed on the end of the bunk facing the door. The blanket his mother had left him went on the bed as well._

_While he’d been unpacking, Hatsuharu had brought in a large screen to wrap around Anatassia’s bed and she was disappearing behind it now, a change of clothes in hand. Tony and the other two boys took the chance to change as well and Tony had to admit that the light linen felt nice, as well as being far more comfortable to move around in. He pulled on a pair of socks and left the shoes he’d been wearing by his footlocker. The others were dressed now as well and Anatassia was slipping from behind her screen, smiling at them._

_With more than forty minutes to spare, the small group of novices slid into the benches at their table, the candles already lit and two on both sides, falling into easy conversation._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_In the fall of Tony’s ninth year, Alistair found Tony in the forge, commenting on the dimensions of one of the projects one of his older apprentices was working on. He’d stood in the entry of the forge and listened as the young novice rattled off numbers and equations, and the older novices were listening because everything Tony was saying was absolutely right._

_Alistair cleared his throat and Tony turned around, face flushing guiltily. He wasn’t supposed to be in the forge without his mentor’s permission. Alistair smiled charmingly. He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young. His black hair was smattered with gray, as was his goatee, and his earthen green eyes sparkled with humor. “Calm down kid. I won’t tattle on you. Let’s have a conversation though.” He said, holding his arm out and motioning the young novice into the next room, where it was a cooler. This was where weapons were sharpened and finishing touches were put on other projects._

_Before Alistair closed the door though, one of his apprentices caught his attention. “That kid is brilliant, Old Man Ali. Can we keep him?” She asked and Alistair smiled brightly before snorting in laughter. The apprentice returned to her work and Alistair vanished into the second room, where Tony was sitting at one of the grinding stones, staring at his feet. Alistair was quiet a moment before he spoke._

_“You know, I’m always looking for new apprentices.” Tony’s head shot up and looked about to protest before Alistair held up his hand and spoke again. “Tony, everyone know’s you’re a genius. You’re the son of Howard Stark, stars above. I know that, even working in the stables and doing your work from class and practicing your skills isn’t giving you enough to think about. With you as an apprentice in the forge, it’ll give you a chance to do what you do best. Assemble things with your hands. You like that kind of work, I can tell.” He said._

_Tony was silent and contemplative before he answered. “Can I think about it?” He asked and alistair nodded. The young novice hopped to his feet and left the forge, scampering out into the chill canadian air._

_A week later, Tony came back to the forge, smiling brightly. From that day forth, he was considered one of Alistair’s brightest apprentices and first in line to take over for Alistair as the Grand Master Blacksmith once his training was complete._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_On the day of Tony’s tenth birthday, Alexander didn’t even let him go to his morning classes. Instead, as soon as breakfast was finished, Alexander fastened a blindfold around Tony’s head and carefully led his student up and out of the den and into what Tony recognized by smell and sound as the stable. Tony was confused. He often spent his mornings or afternoons that weren’t devoted to his other classes in the forge or the stables, so why all the cloak and dagger getting him there?_

_Tony patiently let himself be led to what felt like the arena before he felt Alexander’s hands on his shoulders. “I have a surprise for you, Lille Valpen.” He said and Tony could hear the barely suppressed excitement in his mentor’s voice. There was the sound of silk on silk and the blindfold came away and Tony blinked. And then smiled in utter glee._

_Before him, standing on spindly legs and wobbling about, was a young colt of no more than a few months old. It’s dark blue-gray color and build made it stand out against the bright yellow sawdust that covered the ground of the arena and Tony glanced up at his mentor, hazel eyes wide. “Is that...?” He trailed off, almost hesitant to ask and Alexander nodded._

_“He’s yours, Tony. He’s four months old, just old enough to be weaned. He’s Shasta’s foal.” Tony grinned brighter at that. Shasta was a gentle, older horse, an Irish Sport Horse, that Tony had been trained with until he was used to riding. Alexander pushed him forward gently and Tony took a few cautious steps towards the foal. The foal looked up at him, wide doe eyes alight before he knickered and pranced over to Tony, almost dancing around him._

_Soon, the foal came to a stop in front of Tony, almost as if he noticed his playmate wasn’t joining in the fun. Tony reached out a tentative hand and the foal kicked up a bit before reaching out with his nose to bump against Tony’s hand. Tony grinned and rubbed his hand up and down the length of the foal’s snout, laughing brightly when the foal whinnied and pranced around again._

_Tony turned to look at Alexander. “What’s his name?” He asked. Alexander shrugged his shoulders._

_“I don’t know, Lille Valpen. He’s your foal. It’d be wrong for someone else to name him. He’s yours to gentle, to train and to ride. He’s yours.” He said strongly. Tony grinned at that again and reached out to run his hand over the length of the foal’s short neck and scratch lightly at the base of his mane._

_“I’ll call you...Achillies.”_

~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Every novice was expected to learn to use two close-range weapons and as many long ranged weapons as possible by the time they started to take assignments, as well as multiple hand-to-hand combat styles. While the Order prized themselves on their assassin’s being silent and unseen, sometimes something went wrong during an assignment or they instigated a fight on purpose for certain assignments, and the teachers wanted the novices and assassins to be ready for this._

_Tony wasn’t built large and, even after puberty started, the trainers had no trouble seeing that Tony wouldn’t be a towering mass of muscles. But Tony didn’t care, because he had speed and brain-processing power on his side. Alexander helped him pick a Russian style, Systema, which relied on Tony’s speed to get around his opponent’s defences and hit pressure points, and Japanese Aikido, which ignored Tony’s lack of muscle-mass and relied on using his opponent’s force against themselves._

_Tony took to his styles like a fish to water and his teachers were amazed when he reached proficiency after only four years. But Tony kept practicing. Kept sparring with his teachers and the other students who were taking classes in the same styles. And soon, he came upon his weapons._

_He, who’d been trained in archery since his sixth birthday, kept his bow, though he’d started using a longbow soon after his arrival at the den. Alexander trained him to be competent in the use of rifles, both hunting and sniping rifles, and the use of handguns after his twelfth birthday._

_Tony’s first choice in close-range combat weapons came when he stumbled upon another, older, novice practicing late one afternoon. She was moving through the katas with ease and Tony stood and watched, entranced. She was wielding a sword, one Tony recognized to be a katana. She stopped in her movements and looked behind her, directly at him and Tony could feel heat moving across his face._

_The older novice smiled at him disarmingly and dropped her arms down, sliding the sword into the sheath that hung at her waist and then walking over to him. “Interested in the style?” She asked, stopping a few feet away from him. Tony nodded and the novice motioned him into the training room. The stone floor was cool and smooth underfoot and Tony stood in the middle of the room while the girl went to a rack against the wall and grabbed a wooden sword the same length and shape as the katana that hung from her belt._

_She handed him the wooden sword, stood behind him and gently grabbed his wrists. They moved slowly through a kata before the other novice made a sound of contemplation and stepped back. “You’re undercompensating. The katana gives you such a long reach, you’re not stretching your arms enough, so the style isn’t fluid.” She took the wooden katana from his hand and returned to the wall, grabbing another wooden sword down and coming back._

_The wooden sword she handed him this time was five inches shorter, more square in shape and slightly more heavy in the handle than the blade. They paired up again and went through the kata again. Tony could feel the ease this time and the novice behind him made a sound of triumph as she stepped back. “Perfect.” She praised him and Tony smiled. After that, Stella became Tony’s constant sparring partner and mentor and Tony picked up his first weapon, the Ninjato sword along with the ancient Japanese style Stella had showed him that first day, “Seibākyatto o furaingu”, the Flying Saber Cat._

_After that, Tony seemed indecisive as to what his next weapon would be and he went nearly six months before he chose his next one. The Order was known for their assassin’s utilization of odd weapons and combat styles, and Brett Hatel was no different. Brett was born in London and raised in China with his mentor, he picked up an interesting weapon._

_The Bo staff, used by monks in the temples, often as their only defensive weapons, was often almost as long as the wielder was tall and, made either of wood or metal, used correctly they could cave in a man’s skull with an easy flick of the wrists. Brett smithed his own, collapsable and made of strong titanium alloys, though he preferred to practice with a wooden one he’d carved himself._

_Tony stumbled upon him by accident one day, practicing in one of the empty pastures on a later summer evening. Tony had been training Achilles to take to his halter and be led by rope, the yearling prancing about behind him, when they saw him. Brett was sweeping through what looked to be a dance and Tony vowed to come back after he’d stabled Achilles for the night._

_When he came back, Brett was still practicing, though he was moving faster, and his bare feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Tony hadn’t realized he’d been watching for so long until Brett cleared his throat. Tony’s head shot up and he stuttered over an apology before Brett lay a hand on his shoulders and smiled. “Chill it, little bro. You interested in learning to use the Bo staff?” He asked, taking his staff and tapping the end against the ground._

_Tony looked unsure for a moment before he grunted softly. “Can I try it?” He asked. Brett nodded and Tony climbed over the fence and thumped onto the ground. Tony had tried dozens of different weapons since he’d found his sword and each one had just felt wrong. Now, Brett handed him the staff, helped placed his hands in the right position and stepped back._

_“Now, swing carefully. See if it feels right. Move your feet smoothly. The key is remain light on your feet. Strike with the power in your shoulder. Find your target. The staff is your balance. The staff is your weapon. Use your focus and strike out!” He shouted. Tony was a little unsure on his feet at first but soon he moving with a little more ease, though it was almost aimless and without the fluidity a style brought._

_Tony liked the way it felt, moving with the staff. Much like Brett had said, the staff acted like a balance and allowed for a broader range of motion, as well as an incredible reach. After a few moments he stopped, tapping the staff on the ground, much like Brett had. There was moment of silence before Tony turned to face Brett._

_“I like it.”_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Tony takes up dancing a few months after his thirteenth birthday out of necessity._

_Once the novices started moving away from book learning and into the technical applications of their skills and the additional skills they picked up from the others interests they were taught, the mentors made sure to have gather them together for an important conversation._

_In the summer of Tony’s tenth year, the mentors gathered the novices into one of the classrooms. The first thing they discussed was something that left every novice twitching with nerves. Their training and possible future jobs almost certainly precluded an injury, especially once they started weapons training and free-running practice. These injuries could kill, or permanently maim them if they occurred._

_The second thing they talked about made Tony grin, even many years after. The idea of Zeymah, of Brothers and Sisters, was one that ran strong through the entire Order and had, since the beginning. Tony had known, since they all met, that he could trust those around him, but the idea of Zeymah was to trust them completely, to believe that they would be there for him through thick and thin._

_These conversations, these life lessons, never became more truthful to Tony until his first, and only, major training accident._

_Tony started training Achilles under saddle three months after the colt’s second birthday and, by the time Tony and Alexander declared him trail-worthy shortly after his third birthday, both horse and rider knew each other very well. Achilles was stalwart and steady, hardly ever kicked up whether they were riding on the mountainous trails or the pastures around the stable. Tony was an attentive rider, mindful of his horse and his needs, gentle of hand and soft of voice, the signs of an expert horseman._

_The day before Tony’s thirteenth birthday, he woke up, ate his breakfast and made his way to the stables. He planned on practicing jumping with Achilles, in the hopes that he could possibly use him in competitions. The rest of his classmates, now numbered at eleven, were doing something else for the day, except for Anatassia and Robert, who’d already gone to the stables._

_Achilles greeted him with a soft knicker and Tony frowned as he slid open the stall door, wrapped his fingers in the halter corner and led him out into the aisle of the stables. He clipped him to a stay post and ran his hands over Achilles, checked his hooves and in his ears and his mouth, though he found nothing wrong. Once he was assured Achilles wasn’t suffering from an injury or illness, he unclipped him and led him to the indoor arena._

_He went through the motions of saddling him as he’d done for almost a year. Achilles stood patiently as Tony heaved himself up into the saddle, though he seemed to dance a little as he moved out into the sand-covered jumping arena where Robert and Anatassia were already practicing._

_Tony and the other riders endeavoured to train out the stable and riding vices, like wood-gnawing, see-sawing and dancing under saddle, and there was no reason for Achilles to break his gait, as he’d been taken out of stable daily. Before Tony started the jumping course, he gaited him around the massive pen, hoping a quick warm up would ease Achilles’ jumpiness. He danced a little the first two times around the pen but, by the third time around, Achilles was trotting with his usual smoothness._

_Finally, Tony turned Achilles onto the course and made for the first jump. For ten minutes, Achilles made his jumps with ease, cleared the water obstacles and sand traps, and stayed a steady trot around the course. Tony knew, on one of the last jumps of the course, that something went wrong when Achilles whinnied sharply. His hindlegs caught the poll and they landed horribly._

_Achilles brayed loudly as they landed and before Tony could rein him in he started bucking, neighing and whinnying as he kicked up. Tony held on as tight as he could, gently pulling on the reins and talking soothingly, trying to walk him down from the fit. But Achilles was having none of it and soon, his legs got caught in the edge of a sand trap._

_Achilles brayed once more and, before Tony knew what was wrong, he was flying through the air. His contact with a nearby jumping obstacle made a terrific crash and, as his body made contact with the ground, white hot agony arced through his back and arm. Blackness crept over his vision and the last things he heard before he fell unconscious were the sounds of screaming._

Sometime Later

_When Tony next awoke, he was in a medium-sized room, dark and comfortably warm. He was on his side and his head felt like it was full of thistle-down and lamb’s wool. His arm was stretched out and resting on a pillow, swathed in a cast from fingertips to well past his elbow. He could feel a warmth against his back that seemed to ease some of the pain he could feel lancing up and down his spine._

_“H’lo?” He slurred and stopped, a strangled whine escaping him. God, it hurt. Tony turned blurry hazel eyes upwards and mumbled quietly when he saw Anatassia, holding a cup with a straw to his lips. Tony drank gratefully before pulling back. “Wha’ happened?” He asked. He didn’t dare move, if the pain that was still moving through his body was any warning. Anatassia thinned her lips. “I think you should let Alexander tell you.” She said softly. Tony felt nervous, but sleep was already pulling at him and soon he was slipping into sleep again._

_The next time Tony came back. he was facing the opposite side of the bed and Alexander was facing him. “It’s nice to see you awake, Lille Valpen.” He said, smiling softly and holding another straw to Tony’s lips. Tony drank deeply again before pulling back._

_“What happened?” He asked, this time voice much clearer. Alexander seemed recalcitrant to answer at first, but soon, he placed a hand on Tony’s good one, which rested next to the pillow and had an IV inserted into it._

_“You had an accident on the jumping course two days ago, Tony. One of Achilles’ shoes came loose on a jump and then the next jump drove a nail into the sole of his hoof. He bucked you out of the saddle and you flew into an obstacle. You broke your arm and dislocated your elbow. You also...” Tony looked as his mentor sharply._

_“Tony, when you landed, you pulled most of flexor muscles in your lower back. Now, normally, if you pulled one or even two, all you would need was rest for it, some ice and heat and time. But you pulled almost every single Multifidum Flexor muscle in your back. You’re going to need some kind of therapeutic management for it. If you can’t find one that works, we’ll have to pull you from the program.”_

Several Weeks Later

_Tony was curled up in his bunk, holding back tears as Brad pressed a heating pad to his back, singing softly to him. Anatassia was brushing his hair out of his face and singing with Brad. Tony took a shuddering gasp. The medics had given him a list of therapeutic exercises to perform in hopes to help heal his back. And they’d helped. Somewhat._

_Tony groaned. “It’s not nice to play song tag when I can’t sing back.” He said, gaining light smiles from the other two. Song tag was a game that had originated shortly after the ill-fated hunting trip after Tony’s tenth birthday that had cut their numbers when four of the novices departed when they came to the realization that they couldn’t even kill deer, let alone humans. The remaining novices, bored, soon picked up hobbies like playing instruments and singing, just to fill the quiet that began to invade their section of the dorms. Novices would burst out into random song, sometimes from the radio, sometimes from recorded choir performances or movies. Novices would join in, or come back with a different song and, soon it was a game._

_“Well, you always come back with something good, even if it takes awhile.” Brad said and Tony chuckled weakly. There was a rustle and then a grunt. “You know, there’s one thing on this list you haven’t tried yet.” Brad murmured and Tony nodded. He knew that, at the bottom of the list and circled, was the word “Dancing”. Tony had yet to visit with the two mentors that knew multiple forms of dancing yet, but with this attack, he knew he could put it off no longer._

_“I know, I’ll talk to them in the morning.”_

Following Day

_Jeremey Sayers and Allicia Walters practiced every other day in one of the training rooms with their students and Tony found them with ease when he goes looking for them the next morning. Jeremey greeted him with a smile and an expansive arm motion while Allicia and the other novices greeted him with waves, though they were no less enthusiastic in their vocalized greetings._

_“Tony! Alexander said we could be expecting you. Come on in, we’ll find you a partner.”_

_Tony couldn’t have hoped for a better result than the one he received. The dancing, which started light, not only eased the pain in his back and aided his recovery, it increased his flexibility and his overall ease of movement._

_Tony would go on to learn Ballroom and all of its subsets, American and otherwise, Fandango and Flamenco, Swing Dancing and, when he was older and as a bet, several styles of Indian dances._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Pay attention ‘Nio! We’re here!” Tony was pulled out of his reverie by Anatassia’s voice and he shook himself. They were just about to cross over the small creek to the airstrip and Tony slowed down his tandem until they were across. Anatassia smiled at him as she made it across as well. “Reminiscing?” She asked and Tony nodded.

“I can’t help it. I’ll be eligible for assignments in a few weeks. I’ve been thinking about all the training I’ve done since we all started spending time here at the Den.” He said. They'd arrived at the airstrip now and Tony gently pulled Odin and Zeus to a halt near the one plane that sat on the tarmac. Anatassia grinned at him.

“Yeah, well, don’t do that on the way home. Hauling two tons of steel ingots uphill is not the time to get sentimental.” She and Tony shared a laugh as Tony stuck his tongue out at her and climbed off his wagon seat.

“Sure, ‘Tassa. Now let’s get this done so we can be home for dinner. I hear the cooks are making brisket tonight.”


	4. The Shadow, Masked

It’s a week after Tony’s fifteenth birthday that he received his first assignment. He was working in the forge as a striker while he and Alistair carefully crafted a decorative strut for a building. Tony was just about to bring the hammer down again when there was a knock on the door. Alistair returned the metal bar to the heat and Tony set the large sledgehammer on the ground, leaning on the handle as he turned to face the door.

Standing there, in full uniform with his tiger mask at his hip, was Alexander and Tony felt as if ice had begun to course through his veins. Mentor and student shared a quick look before Tony straightened up and left the sledgehammer resting against the wall. “It’s time.” Was all Alexander said before he turned on his heels.

Tony quickly stripped off his apron and left the forge, swiftly re-entering the den and making for his room. The room was quiet and empty, the coals in the fireplace flickering weakly. On his bunk was the full uniform and the armor the assassins wore under their uniforms. Tony hadn’t smithed his own scalemail overlay for his pants or a chainmail shirt yet, but the armor had been a gift from the other apprentices who worked in the forge for his birthday.

Tony slipped out of his novice uniform and pulled a tight t-shirt and pants from his footlocker, pulling those on. Once that was done, he pulled on the scalemail overlay and fastened the traces in the back and slipped the chainmail shirt on, tightening those as well. He slipped into the form-fitting black tunic and pants and then his boots. He looked down at himself, smiling slightly despite the mass of nerves that settled in his gut. He looked pretty good in full uniform.

Next he grabbed his sash and Ninjato from its spot on the weapons rack and fastened it around his waist tightly. The strap holster for his collapsable Bo staff went on his left thigh and he secured the weapon inside it and then he secured the small haversack to his hip, which held emergency survival supplies and first aid equipment. He grabbed his longbow and quiver from the last spot and smiled. 

The quiver had been carved by Brad, as a gift for his fifteenth birthday. It was rectangular and had intricate patterns carved all over, painted crimson so they stood out against the ebony color of the quiver. Tony had smithed the arrow heads and shaped the shafts of the arrows himself, working every night on the latter in the comfort of the dorms, using his pocket knife and the flame from a candle to strengthen and shape the shafts.

The bow, his newest bow, finished only two weeks ago. He’d spent months carefully smoothing and shaping the bow, using flame and boiling water until it was shaped perfectly. It was almost as tall as he was, only ten inches or so shorter, covered in a protective layer of horn. The grip had calf leather wrapped around it and a small, carved amulet in the shape of an Antelope, a gift from Alexander, hung from the bottom of the grip, as a representation of Satet, the Egyptian goddess of War, Archery and Hunting.

He set those aside, donned his hooded, sleeveless tabard and then put the quiver in place, followed shortly by the bow. Fully kitted out, he left his room and then the den as a whole, On the ground floor of the hunting lodge, tucked behind main room and down a warmly lit hall was an office. It wasn’t very big, but it was decorated nicely, with dark blue walls and carpet and weathered gray moulding. Behind a an oaken desk, buried under papers and files but seemingly always smiling was a woman of maybe thirty-five.

She had blonde hair and wicked hazel eyes, but a warm smile and voice. This was Marcie Blackmill, referred to almost exclusively during working hours as the Aak, the Guide and Leader of the Order. Assassins came to her for assignments, she assigned new assassins their masks and she dealt most directly with the forces in the government that funded and protected the members of the Raan Do Sivaas.

After working hours, when she wandered around the halls of the den with the rest of the assassins, when she sat down to dinner with everyone, she was just Marcie, as approachable to novices and assassins alike as any other. But now, as Tony met Alexander outside of the office door before going in, it was easy to see she was all business. She was holding a manilla folder in her hands and staring at them intently.

“You called, Aak?” Alexander asked and Marcie nodded her head. She slid the file over to Tony, who grabbed it and opened it. Facing him were two pictures, one of a man in his mid-thirties and another of a slightly younger woman. Tony flipped through the pages, and then made a sound of disgust once he reached the highlighted page with the reason for termination.

Child molesters and traffickers.

Attached to the packet of information on his targets were dozens of pages, each containing the information of a child that had been a victim of the pair. Testimonies that linked the children who’d been sold off to the couple. All of this solid evidence, and they’d been set free because of a technicality. With Double Jeopardy in play, the courts couldn’t touch them.

But the Order could.

Tony flipped the rest of the way through and gathered the rest of the necessary information for the assignment. Located in a cabin in central Wisconsin, unguarded by anything like a security system and anyone but themselves, it was as simple as breaking into the cabin and finishing them off in their sleep.

Tony looked up and locked eyes with Marcie, who was holding out two white hawk feathers. As Tony didn’t have a mask, and therefore didn’t have a totem to accredit the kills to his name, a simple hawk feather would be left instead. Tony took the two feathers carefully and tucked them into his haversack. 

“Do you understand your assignment and what you’re being asked to do?” She asked And Tony nodded sharply.

“Yes, Aak.” He said.

“Good. Peace and Focus go with you, novice, Tiger.” She said and both Tony and Alexander turned on their heels and left the room, heading straight outside. Both of their horses were standing there, Alexander’s being held by his girlfriend and Achilles being held by Anatassia, Robert and Brad close by. Tony and Alexander split off to talk to their respective farewell groups. Tony was immediately scooped up in a hug by Anatassia and then thumped on the back by the other two. 

“You be careful, alright, Tony? Don’t be stupid and use that giant brain of yours in your head.” Brad told him and Tony nodded. He shook hands with them all again, got another hug from Anatassia and an ear tweak from Brad before he hauled himself into the saddle. Once Alexander was in his as well, Tony gently tapped Achilles’ sides and started a steady course down the mountain trail, Alexander not far behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the plane to Madison, Alexander handed Tony a mask. It was blank, expressionless, like someone had taken a mask right off a mould and painted it the colors of the Order, ebony with crimson outlines. “You won’t get your mask until after your fifth assignment, but we wouldn’t send you on an assignment without some way to maintain your anonymity.” Tony nodded and let Alexander explain how the mask went on and stayed on and it was comfortable, done to measurements done of his face a week ago.

When the plane landed, Alexander hopped into the SUV provided to them by a man in a suit, and Tony climbed into the passenger seat. It was nearing dusk as they pulled out of the city proper and full dark had settled by the time Alexander pulled the SUV to a halt at the top of a dirt road, shut off the car and turned to look at Tony. “You’re target is half a mile down this road. Make your way inside, kill the targets and leave. I will be waiting for you half way between this vehicle and the target building. If you need help, I will know and I will be there.”

Tony nodded mutely and then slid from the car, Alexander not far behind him. Tony slipped into the foliage on the left side of the road and made his way down the not-so-steep hill. His boots, made of soft calf leather and lined with moisture wicking fabric, were unlike all other boot. Boots worn by the assassins of the Order were no more than leather that slipped over the feet. They had no rigid shape and were meant to move with the assassin’s feet.

Right outside the treeline, he stopped, hidden behind a tall bush, and looked. Sitting on the dark porch and fumbling with a lighter was the woman from the folder, one of his targets. Once she got her cigarette lit, she settled, facing away to her left. Tony took a deep breath and unhooked his bow from his back, grabbed an arrow from the quiver and nocked it.

The night was almost completely still, only the slightest breeze coming from the east. Tony adjusted for it and breathed in, then out, and then in again.

But he couldn’t let go of the arrow.

He was about to commit murder. The minute that arrow left the bowstring and found its target, he was a murderer. Tony was about to unnock the arrow when he remembered the file. The pictures of those little kids, once so vibrant and happy, beaten and broken because the person in front of him and in the one in the house got their kicks from abusing kids. 

Tony felt white-hot rage flash through him as he pulled the bowstring back the rest of the way, breathed in once more and, on his exhalation, let the arrow fly. It made a whistling noise as it cut through the air and a wet sounding thunk when it embedded in the neck of the woman. Tony watched with morbid fascination as the woman fell to the porch, bleeding in rivers from both sides of her neck and unable to scream for the arrow that was now embedded where her voicebox had once been.

Tony took a quick moment to breathe past the nausea that swelled in his gut at the sight, but he knew he didn’t have a moment to lose. After waiting thirty seconds to make sure no one was coming, he crept out of the bushes and over onto the porch. He reached into his haversack, pulled one of the feathers out and swiped it through the pool of blood before putting it in the woman’s hand and closing her fingers gently around it.

He crouched low so he was below the door’s window and tried the knob, grunting with satisfaction when he noticed that it was unlocked. He pushed gently and then squeezed inside through the gap that opened up. His second target was asleep in his recliner and Tony sighed. He’d have to get up close for this one. He hooked his bow to his quiver and this time reached for his sword.

It was clean and polished, glinting in the low light from the television. He’d smithed it himself, finished only a month ago and, obeying the traditions set down by every wielder before him, had not named it. It would remain without a name until he’d spilt blood with it three times. He breathed and crept to stand in front the recliner, rising to his full height and resting the tip of the blade against the man’s throat.

He didn’t even blink this time, pushing down his disgust and anger and malaise to be dealt with later, and he didn’t give the man time to awaken. With a deft flick of his wrists, a move oft practiced, he slit the man’s throat. The man came awake with a sick gurgle, staring at the blank of Tony’s masked face in terror as he bled out. Tony didn’t even wait until he was done bleeding before he swiped the second feather through the blood and left it on the man’s chest.

Striding with purpose out of the house, he flung the door open, assured that his gloves, made of thick padded leather, wouldn’t leave any fingerprints. He made his way rapidly through the woods back to the top of the road, where Alexander was waiting at the SUV, arms crossed, pride radiating from his very being despite the blank of his tiger mask. They climbed into the SUV and drove off back to airport, where another private plane was waiting, guarded by the same suited man as before.

Tony almost fell out of the SUV, what he’d just done catching up to him and he’d begun to shake. Alexander came over and pried off his mask, and then Tony’s, catching the hazel eyes of his student. “How was your first assignment, _Lille Valpen?_ ” He asked.

In answer, Tony lost his lunch all over Alexander's shoes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony’s next assignment had him away longer than a night and further away than Wisconsin. Brett accompanied him on a flight across the ocean to Japan. Camped in high-rise office building in the city of Kyoto, Tony took out a corrupt businessman, who was selling arms to a terrorist group in Shibuya. 

He waited until the man entered the office, grabbed him and threw him bodily out of the window. Below there was screaming as glass rained down upon the walking pedestrians and then a horrified howl as the body shortly followed. Tony and Brett were at the airfield and ready to lift off within the hour.

His third assignment had him in France, under the supervision of Allicia, his dancing instructor, now dressed to the nines in her uniform and bearing the mask of a dolphin. She spotted for him as he sniped a French politician a quarter mile away from the woman’s home.

After his third assignment, in the middle of July, his father sent him a letter, informing him that he’d been accepted to MIT. Tony had been ecstatic. Granted, he wouldn’t fit in at the University, and he’d have to have an apartment all of his own because he wasn’t allowed in campus living quarters at his age, but he’d long ago run out of assignments that the mentor’s could teach him and, in his spare time, he was almost always designing something on paper or working in the well-lit forge on an actual project. College sounded like a blessing.

Tony’s fourth assignment had him in the Bahamas, where a man used his shark tours as a means to traffic drugs. Tony was once again accompanied by Alexander, who watched his student knock out the man, tie fish heads to his legs and toss him in the water, where he was quickly eaten by Mako sharks.

Tony’s fifth assignment came well after he’d settled in at MIT. On a snowy, December morning, Marcie Blackmill herself showed up at his apartment with two duffels on her shoulders and a file in one hand, cardboard carrying case of coffee in the other. Tony opened the door and allowed her in before shutting the door behind her and then drawing the blinds. Marcie dropped the duffels on the ground, handed Tony a cup of coffee and made herself comfortable on Tony’s couch, watching as the apprentice made himself comfortable in a recliner.

“I have another one for you, Tony.” She said and Tony nodded. Marcie slid the file across the coffee table and Tony snatched it up, flipping it open. His face was a blank mask, as he’d long ago learned to close off his emotions when he was at the beginning of an assignment until the very end. He flipped open the folder and paged through, grunting as he took in his new target.

The picture he saw this time was of an older man, dressed in a smart suit, salt and pepper hair. Tony recognized him immediately. He’d been in the news dozens of times, the leader of a crime syndicate in Italy, suspected of having his fingers in everything from arms dealing and drug trafficking to kidnapping and murder-for-hire. The Italian authorities and Interpol couldn’t pin anything on him, no matter how they tried

And now it was their turn.

“How is this going to go down?” He asked. Assassins of the Raan Do Sivaas could be called upon to perform all sorts of different assassinations from simple point and shoot to complicated, incredibly thought out ruses ending in the death of their target as a lesson to those around him. Marcie was smiling.

“We’re going to a party.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The assignment went fantastically. Dressed in white-tie and tails, Tony, posing as the son of Marcie and Brett, performed his first speciality assassination. Before dinner, while the crowd was mingling, a paid-off waiter slipped Tony a small, sharpened dagger, which he slipped into his waistcoat. Dinner was surprisingly warm for a banquet funded by thugs and, during cocktails, Tony was offered a minor-friendly version of one of the drinks being served.

Slowly, the three assassins made their way to the back of the table where the target, his wife and his lieutenants were sitting and Tony yawned slightly, white-gloved hand coming up to cover his mouth. And the lights went down.

There was frightened screaming and the sounds of one of the lieutenants trying to calm down the guests when Tony made his move. He crept forward with one hand out, the other holding the dagger behind his back. Once his hand made contact with a broad shoulder and Tony dropped his voice as low as possible.

 _“Leo Gratilli, io sono un membro delle forze di sicurezza. Va tutto bene?”_ He asked, speaking as if Italian were his first language.

 _“Sì, sì. Lo sto bene.”_ The older man responded. Tony grinned in triumph as he brought the dagger around and, with little difficulty, rammed it into the man’s spine, right at the base of the skull. Death was instantaneous.

 _“Oh, bene. Poi ho avuto quello giusto la prima volta.”_ He grinned and pulled a feather out of his waistcoat and stuck it on the body of the man in front of him, though it took a moment to wipe the feather through the blood and leave it on the space where the plates had once been. Brett led him out of the ballroom and down the hall and, eventually out of the dancehall completely.

They were already in a car and well down the street before the lights in the dancehall came back up. They weren’t there to hear the screaming, though the news broadcast it the next day the world over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony didn’t return to the den until classes let out in June. He paid forward on his apartment and utilities, packed only a change of civilian clothes and a change of his clothes that they wore at the den. He’d visited with his parents all during the holidays, and planned on spending the better part of the summer with them, but he wanted to check in with his friends first.

And so he boarded one of his father’s planes and rode in comfort to the familiar airstrip. Once there, he stopped at the small stable-outpost, where the Order housed horses to take assassins up the mountain after assignments, and changed into his white linen tunic and pants, as well as his boots.

Tony was elated to find someone had brought down Achilles and he spent a few minutes pressed forehead to forehead with his horse, murmuring happily. One of the stable hands had already tacked him out and Tony settled easily into the saddle before setting out at a canter up the hill.

Upon reaching the area where the den was located, Tony was perturbed to notice that the entire area was still and silent. The forge was cold and none of the chimneys billowed with their usual smoke. The only sound was the young foals playing in the near fields. Tony steered Achilles into the stables, brushed him down and watered him before letting him loose into the pastures, where he headed straight for the hay.

Tony slowly made for the hunting lodge and entered through the secret passage way, still perturbed by the quiet. The stone path was dimply lit and the anteroom was dark and so when the lights flooded on and everyone jumped forward, crowing _“Congratulations!”_. He took a moment to restart his heart, sixteen was too young for a heart attack damnit, and then smiled.

The Raan Do Sivass was comprised of thirty-five assassins, twenty novices and almost fifty other support staff like medics, cooks and trainers. And all of them were gathered in a large semi-circle for him. Standing in the middle of the circle was Alexander and Marcie and directly behind them were his fellow novices. Marcie raised a hand and the room fell silent before she strode forward, her ebony and crimson tunic fluttering as she walked, bare feet silent on the floor.

“Novice Stark. You have trained with us for years, some of those years here and some of those years under the guidance of your mentor, Sunvaar Tiger, Alexander. Most recently, you’ve successfully completed five assignments around the world, with varying means, but with grace and focus. You are smart, wily, quick on your feet and even quicker on the draw. You have a trickster’s spirit but a heart of gold.”

Alexander reached forward with a polished wooden mask, very much like his own, and opened it. Nestled amongst dark crimson velvet was an ebony painted mask, the features done in the darkest crimson and Tony felt a flush of pride and exhilaration.

“And, it is for those traits that I name you Anthony of the Foxes. Let it be known that the world soon shall fear Sunvaar Fox.”


	5. The Passing of a Titan

In the middle of Tony’s second, and last year, at MIT, his parents were killed in a car accident. Tony’s not expecting anything to go wrong that year. He was graduating summa cum laude, his first AI, which he had affectionately named Dummy, was a success, if a little wonky and he’d been finally established as a full fledged assassin in the Order, with twenty-six hits to his name. But, one day, as he was sitting in class, talking with the students around him about everyone’s plans for the long weekend, there was a knock at the door.

Much like any other school on the planet, the students fall silent and gaze intently as their teacher got up and moved to the door, pulling it open gently. No one could see who's on the other side and slowly, they resumed their conversations. Tony’s first year had been awkward, as none of the older students had known how to handle themselves around a fifteen/sixteen-year-old genius. But slowly, Tony’s charm, charisma and easy-going attitude had them relaxing around him and he was almost always surrounded by his moderately-sized group of friends and acquaintances. 

Now, their professor walked back through and made his way up the steps to where Tony was sitting, leaning down to address him quietly. “Mr. Stark, the campus counselor would like to see you in the hall right now.” He said gently. Tony should have taken his cue from the other man’s tone of voice, but instead, he brushed it off and rose from his desk, making his way down to the door.

To his surprise, not only was the campus counselor, a kindly older man, waiting for him, but Alexander and Marcie were as well, both looking drawn. Tony felt the smile that had overtaken his face upon seeing them drop and he looked at all three of the adults with confusion and bewilderment. “What’s wrong?” He asked, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Alexander bit his lip momentarily before he spoke.

It had been fifteen years since twenty-five year-old Alexander had showed up on the mansion doorstep, and he never looked more like his forty years than now. “I have some bad news, ,i>Lille Valpen, about your parents.” He said and Tony felt as if cold water had been poured down his spine and was making its way through his veins.

“Wh-what happened.” He choked out over the rising nausea. There was a moment of silence before Marcie came forward and placed gentle hands on his face, tilting his face up to stare at her sympathetic hazel eyes. She sighed once, heavily, and then spoke.

“I’m sorry, Tony, but your parents are dead. They were in-” But Tony heard no more, the cold water turned to ice in his veins and the last thing Tony saw before blackness overtook his vision was the ground rushing up to meet him, the last sound in his ears the worried shouting of the adults around him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony’s plan for the weekends were cancelled and he spent the better part of what should have been a four day vacation moving about his apartment, much like a zombie, even under the watchful eye of Alexander, who’d stayed behind to look after him. On the third day, Tony dressed stiffly in a propper black suit, shined his shoes, and allowed himself to be bundled into the back of a car driven by one of his dad’s drivers.

At the house, the rest of Tony’s classmates, all full-fledged assassins now and numbering only eight, were waiting for him, along with Allicia, Marcie, Brett, Jeremey and the other assassins and novices that Tony had grown to know and trust in his time at the den. He thought that, if they could have gotten away with it, the entirety of the Order would have shown up. As it stood, during the dual service for his mother and father closed to everyone except family and Tony’s group, Tony was constantly surrounded and supported by many people.

Anatassia and the others made sure someone was holding his hand and there was always a bolstering hand on his shoulder. When, as the men from the funeral homes began to lower the caskets, he began to shake, Brad wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders and held him tight, and if Tony cried, no-one mentioned the tears that dotted Brad’s suit sleeves.

Tony didn’t return home that night, and he made sure to open the rooms for his guests. He gently directed the house-staff into the den, where he explained that, while he wouldn’t be living here after this day, they could and Tony hoped for them to stay in comfort and keep the house ready in case one day, when the pain of his parents’ passing was less fresh, he decided to return. Of course, they were free to leave if they wanted to, with a very handsome severance package and letter of recommendation. 

Once that was done, his father’s lawyer came and read the will to Tony within the privacy of one of the first-floor offices that Tony had converted into a library after his fourteenth year. Tony would keep the properties, all four of them, a relatively moderate fund to keep him housed through the rest of his college career, and a car of his choice from his father’s collection. His trust-fund and the company would be his after his twenty-first birthday and, for the time being, the company would be run by the Board of Directors and Obadiah Stane, a friend of the family.

The last thing the lawyer handed Tony before he left was a letter, which Tony took with shaking hands and slipped into the inner pocket of his suit to read later. Slowly, the guests left, giving the young heir their condolences on the way out. Tony’s cell phone was full of calls from other students at school, who’d heard of the death of his parents on the news, apologizing for his loss. All through the day, Tony was never alone, someone always at his side.

A mug of tea when his throat was sore from saying “thank you for your kindness” to his guests, a warm hand on his elbow or his shoulder when grief began to creep up on him, a solid hug when, after the house was empty, he couldn’t take it anymore and began to sob. Someone was always with him, trying to anchor him through the storm of his sadness.

Finally, late that night, after Tony had switched into a white linen tunic and pants and his guests were long abed, he took the letter, still unopened, and made his way downstairs and into his father’s study. It was cold, like the life had been sucked out of it and even lighting a fire in the hearth didn’t seem to bring any life into the room.

He took a seat on the couch facing the fire, curled in on himself and carefully opened the letter, making extra sure to not tear anything and he gently removed the folded paper within. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the paper, made of heavy, light blue stock, and began to read.

_My son,_

_I’m proud of you. Let nothing anyone ever says or does tell you otherwise. I’ll admit, the day your mother told me she was pregnant, I fainted. I didn’t think I was ready to have a baby. But, as you grew in your mother’s womb, I could already feel myself getting attached. I can’t tell you how many times your mother caught me up in the middle of the night, talking to you. On the day you were born, I cried, because in my hands, I held what I felt to be my whole world._

_You were smart, from day damn one and from the minute you could crawl, your mother and I knew we had our hands full, but we enjoyed every second of it. On the day I was visited by the man with the mask of a Jackal, i was terrified that I would never again see you or your mother. And then, I gave you permission to be trained. I was terrified. My little boy, working to become an assassin. I was up for days at a time, panicking, even though I knew you to be in the next room with Alexander._

_I know I became distant after you left that first time and, for that, I will forever be regretful. But I loved you every bit as much as your mother did, even if I never showed it._

_You’re supposed to get this letter when you turn eighteen, but if you got it before then, then something has happened. But I want you to know this. I watched you leave for training, i watched you leave for college. I saw you build your first AI, I saw you invent with people more than twice your age. I heard of your first assignment, I saw you in full uniform and I prayed every time you went off on a job that you’d return home safely._

_You are, always have been, and always will be, my entire world. You are the center of my universe and, even if I never tell you out loud, I want you to know that, with all my heart, you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I love you, Tony._

_With Love and Pride, Your Father,  
Howard Stark_

The bottom of the page now spotted with tears, Tony picked up a small slip that’d fallen out of the envelope upon opening it, and turned it around to look at it. It was a picture, faded with time and handling, of his father, sitting in a hospital bed next to his mother. Held tightly in his arms is a blue bundle, which both of his parents are staring at with wet eyes, their faces a mask of wonderment and utter joy. And Tony realises, with a heart-wrenching sob, that its him they’re looking at, the time stamp on the bottom proclaiming it to be May 2nd, 1983, the day after his birth.

Tony holds the letter and picture close to his chest and cries.


	6. The Phantom Hunter

Tony returned to the den after his graduation, quieter and more serious in his countenance. His violin, an instrument he picked up to keep his fingers flexible for work and inventing, sat unplayed in his room and his voice no longer rang through the halls as it once had, as the music seemed to have left him. 

Very few things seemed to make him smile anymore. He spent time in the stables, marveling over and gentling Achilles and Loreena’s twin colts, who, by the time Tony’s eighteenth birthday came and went, were over a year old. He crafted a new bow, wrapped up his training within the forge and completed more assignments.

But, slowly, as time went on, Tony opened up again, and became the fun-loving trickster they’d known for years. It started slowly, a small smile when others would tell jokes and tease each other over dinner, soft warbling notes from the violin or a quiet rejoinder to someone else’s song. 

During their spare time, now that they were no longer in any form of academic lessons, Tony and Achilles participated in jumping competitions around the US and UK. So while the rest of the world thought the young Stark heir was out partying somewhere in Europe, he was actually winning medals. Amazing what one could get away with equipped only with some hair dye and colored contacts.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony meets Phil Coulson for the first time on his thirty-ninth assignment. He’d been in Saudi Arabia, definitely his favorite place to travel and perform assignments. He’d just finished with a hit and was jumping from roof to roof in a residential district, dripping blood, both human and animal, from the slaughterhouse he’d just left.

The sun was falling behind him and cast long shadows on the roofs where he was moving. Saudi Arabia, and just about every other middle eastern country, had houses that were close together and had plenty of pipes, windows and decorations on the sides of houses, and it was the easiest place for free-running. 

However, not even Tony, with his fast reflexes and speed, was ready for a blonde-haired man to pop up off the side of the building, rifle at the ready to swing at his head. Tony dropped low and immediately went to the staff holster on his thigh. The velcro came undone with a flick of his fingers and, with an intricate flick of his wrists, the staff snapped into place. Five feet long and made of solid steel with an iron-weight core, Tony now had the advantage of reach and damage.

Pushing his advantage, he popped up to his full height and used the Bo staff to deliver a debilitating strike to the man’s hands, knocking the rifle away and then dashed forward, driving the end of the staff deep into the man’s chest, smirking behind his mask when he heard the air leave his opponent in a rush. One last swing to the other man’s shoulders had him sprawling across the rooftop, panting, hands bruised and glaring up at Tony with anger in steely eyes.

Tony raised the staff into the air, intent on delivering a blow just strong enough to knock his opponent out, when there was a quiet noise behind him, followed by several clicks. Tony looked up and noticed almost a dozen men and women, all in black leather bodysuits, pointing handguns at him and, directly in front of where he was standing, an unassuming man in a suit.

Tony carefully lowered the Bo staff and then, with another flick of his thumb over the catch and twist of his wrists, the staff collapsed into four equal parts, which he replaced in the holster on his thigh and closed.

“Sunvaar Fox.” The man in the suit intoned respectfully and Tony grunted. SHIELD. They’d been warned of them before and, even if they hadn’t, Tony would recognize the organization his father helped found. SHIELD was technically the only other agency, besides the CIA and FBI, which would recognize on the Order’s assassins at a glance and know how to address them, and that was only because all three organizations were under the purview of the WSC.

“Agent.” He responded with the same respect. No need to make anyone angry, immunity or otherwise. They could still shoot him and say it was an accident. The man in the suit waved his hand and everyone put the safeties on their weapons, returning them to holsters and Tony relaxed from his ready stance. The man in the suit helped Tony’s opponent up, murmuring something in his ear until he stood behind and to the left of the suited man. Finally, the man held his hand out.

“Agent Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and-” Tony made an impatient noise in his chest and cut the other man off, shaking hands with Agent Coulson.

“Of SHIELD, I know. Sunvaar Fox, of the Raan Do Sivaas. I didn’t come here for trouble, Agent Coulson.” He said, making sure his voice left no room for arguments. Coulson nodded and sighed. Tony relaxed a little further.

“I get that, but can you please explain why you attacked Agent Barton?” Coulson asked and Tony made a sound, high in his throat, which sounded very much like snerk. 

“He popped up off the side of the building and tried to take my head off with the butt-end of that rifle. I was merely defending myself.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. There was the faintest sound of metal over leather and Kevlar, his chainmail shirt no doubt, before everything fell silent again.

“I see. well, we’ve kept you long enough. I trust you’re done here?” Tony nodded and began walking away to the edge of the rooftop.

“I am. In fact, I should be on a plane out of here in the morning. Check the news tonight, Agent Coulson, I think you’ll find something of interest.” He said haughtily before turning around completely and clearing the gap between roofs with a single bound and the agents watched as he moved away, ebony and crimson tabard fluttering in the breeze.

Later That Evening, SHIELD Base Camp

Coulson was rubbing the bridge of his nose, glancing at the TV screen in front of him and sighing deeply. The contingent he’d been out with earlier, Barton included, were staring at the screen with a strange mix of awe, revulsion and curiosity while the reporter spoke.

“This is the fifty-sixth murder associated with the professional assassin known only as “The Fox”. World officials at Interpol and Europol have recently connected the small, obsidian fox figurines the assassin leaves with his targets to arrows, as shot from a bow, with a black fox carved or burned around them. This leaves “The Fox” with three double homicides, one mass murder of ten people and forty-two individual murders to his name. Officials are unwilling to speculate that “The Fox” may actually be a part of the fabled “Raan Do Sivass”, or The Order of The Beasts, an organization of professional assassins that may or may not exist.”

“The Fox’s newest victim, Amir Hassan Awale, was found murdered in his place of business, a slaughterhouse and butcher shop he owned and operated in the city Abha, in the Asir province of Saudi Arabia. Mr. Awale was found hung on meat hooks from the wrists, his body cavity cut open and a message in blood written on the wall. “I sold those women.” Was all it said. Officials will be looking into the validity of this message. For the time being, I’m Marsha Roberts and this has been SANN World News.”

The room was silent for a moment before one of the agents, who’d stopped to watch when they’d noticed the contingent's rapt attention, spoke. “Sir, wasn’t that the man you reported talking to earlier?” She asked and Coulson nodded. 

“Yes, Agent Barckel, it is.” Was all he said, and then the room went quiet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony meets Pepper Potts for the first time when he’s on his ninty-second assignment. He’s in New York, strolling through back streets and alleyways like he owns the place when he hears a woman scream and the gruff, lower register of a male voice. _“Hand over the purse pretty lady, and I won’t have to hurt you. Unless you like it like that.”_

Tony’s lip curled in disgust behind his mask and he picked up the pace, ignoring the rapidly growing puddles from the rain that fell around him. He rounded the corner and growled. Backed into the wall of a building is a young woman, maybe his age of nineteen, with red hair and barely-tanned skin. The thugs holding her up were both massive brutes, wearing dark clothes and ski-masks.

Tony quickly unhooked his bow from his back and grabbed an arrow from his quiver, nocking it before letting it loose. There was the sound of the arrow piercing flesh, then twin screams of terror, one far higher than the other. Tony didn’t bother to stop, merely reached for another arrow, nocked it, and let it fly with equal ease. The second thug dropped and Tony stepped out of the shadows, returning the bow to its spot on his back.

The woman had sunken to the ground, shivering and staring at the motionless bodies of her assailants, but she looked up at Tony as he approached. She was about to scream when she noticed the mask, the iridescent blue glow of Tony’s colored contacts, which he wore to cover his eyes’ actual color, like a beacon in dank of the alley. Tony crouched down to her level and held out a hand, though he drew back when she flinched.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you. I mean, I did just save you and all.” He said lightly. When he received no response he rose back to his feet and reached into the haversack at his hip, pulling out a burner cellphone. He dialed a number and brought the phone to his ear. “Tango, I need you to come and pick me up at second alleyway down from.....Seventh and Parkway. I picked up an extra who needs to see a doctor.” He said. Call finished, he put the phone back kneeled down again. The arrows would give him credit for the two extra kills.

“You got a name, miss? Or am I going to have spend the next twenty minutes calling you Jane Doe?” He asked, keeping his voice high and light. Poor woman was in shock. Absolutely no reason to be a jerk to her.

“Vir-Virginia Potts. Ever-everyone c-calls me Pep-pepper.” She stumbled over her words and Tony nodded. 

“Well, Pepper- can I call you Pepper?” A nod. “Well Pepper, you can call me Fox, like everyone else does. My driver will be here in a few minutes, and we’re going to get you to a hospital so you can see a doctor and report the crime. You’re in shock and you should make sure those thugs didn’t do any damage, alright?” Another nod and Tony looked up as he heard the familiar strains of Mozart filtering through the windows of an approaching SUV.

He helped Pepper to her feet, wrapped his cloak around the shivering woman, knowing the thick fullcloth would keep the water off of her and the warmth around her body, and threw open the backseat of the SUV. He helped her in and then closed the door before hopping into the passenger side. “Nearest Hospital, Tango.” He said gently.

Tango, actual name Bruno Jepsan, was one of the most experienced drivers in the Order, and was used to moving assassins, weapons and other, mostly illegal, items from place to place. He drove smooth and slow to the hospital and, when they arrived, Tony slid out of the passenger seat and opened the back. He was hidden in the shadows, and his contacts still glowed from where they could be seen through the eyeholes of his mask.

Once Pepper was out of the car he pushed her gently in the direction of the doors and smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it through his mask. “Just go on in there and explain to a nurse what happened. They’ll help you.” He said. 

Pepper nodded and walked a few feet away before she stopped and turned back around to look at him. “What do i say if they ask who helped me?” She asked and Tony pondered over that for a minute.

“Just tell them that you got help from a Fox. They’ll know.” Realization came over Pepper’s face but before she could say anything, Tony was back in the SUV, driving away into the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Tony feels anything more than brotherly affection for Brad, he misses the handhold he’s shooting for and slams into the wall, effectively breaking his nose. They were in the den, between assignments and all eight of them were practicing free-running. The cave had a massive cavern, carved out painstakingly, and thick wooden logs served as the course, with plenty of platforms and ropes in between.

Tony was a close second to Brad’s first, and if he’d been able to make the jump, he’d have overtaken the other. But Brad looked behind himself and smiled at Tony, so bright and genuine, that if filled Tony with more warmth and affection and something else that he’d been startled by the sheer force of his feelings and mistimed the jump.

Tony slumped to the floor, luckily he’d been near the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing a storm in every language he ever learned. And there’d been a lot by that point. The rest of the class ground to a halt and rushed to his aid.

Anatassia pulled a rag out of her pocket and gently tipped his head back, holding it to his nose. “What was that, Fox? Go a little cross-eyed there?” Robert teased him gently. Now that everyone was masked, they referred to each other by that almost often as their real names, a sign of respect and affection.

“Shut it, Lion. I was still further ahead than you were.” He sniped back lightly. “I just got distracted is all. I’ll be fine.” He grumbled, trying to pull back from Anatassia’s hands, but she held on tight, shaking her head. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, ‘Nio. You just slammed face first into the wall. You’re going to the infirmary so I can have a better look at your head and make sure nothing’s broken.” She ordered. Tony groaned something in Macedonian, or what Anatassia assumed to be Macedonian, and rose to feet, allowing her to lead him to the infirmary.

After that, Tony was doubly sure to watch himself around the others as his crush grew. Obviously, they’d all been given the talk about sex and orientation and how the Order didn’t care who you slept with, but Tony didn’t dare bring it up with anyone in his class, for fear that he would wreck the friendships he had with the other assassins. And so, for the time that passed, Tony squashed his feelings and tried to be the best friend possible.

It was easier when Anatassia and Brad left for medical school shortly after their eighteenth birthdays and Robert, after his twentieth birthday, retired and joined the Marines. But between Tony’s seventeenth birthday and his twenty second, he was bored out of his skull between assignments. And so he went to college, eight more times, for nursing, architecture, computer technology and several other minor degrees.

Every assassin has a contingency plan. If they should ever be unmasked, then they could never again show their face in public, mainly because they could be charged with murder. So Tony, with resources of the Order and his own money, created a whole new identity, gave them a background and even bought a house in the name of his alias’ parents. Kyle Hennessy got the nursing degree and Tony even had pictures of “Kyle” at varying stages of his teenage and young adult years. Kyle was the name he’d been in the jumping competitions under.

With his future more than secure, both as Tony Stark and as Kyle Hennessy, Tony continued living life to the fullest even as, almost every month, more blood painted his hands.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Injuries are not an uncommon occurrence among assassins. Tony can vividly recall his friends coming back from assignments, bruised, scratched, bones broken and, even occasionally with patched up bullet holes in them. Tony himself had borne the brunt of his many assignments. He’d broken toes and fingers, pulled and strained almost every muscle in his body at one point. 

The two injuries that would stick with him the most though had occurred on two separate assignments. The first had been Tony’s eighty-ninth assignment. He’d been ordered to put poison in a man’s coffee, but the man’s secretary surprised him, and Tony splashed a bit in his eye. This poison didn’t work like many industrial rat and insect poisons did, as this one was made of carefully picked herbs. Tony’s eye swelled an hour later and, by the time one of the medics back at the den had given him the antidote for it, Tony was ninety-percent color blind in his left eye.

The second occurred on Tony’s one hundred-and-tenth assignment. In Iraq, he’d been ordered to blow up a house full of terrorists. After setting the timer on the C4 charges, he’d been meant to run for a safe spot and was halfway done putting in the heavy-duty ear plugs when he noticed the young girl moving sheep within the blast radius of the house. Tony had charged for her and managed to tackle her out of the way before the house went off.

Tony suffered a perforated eardrum for his troubles in his right ear and, when he’d gone to a hospital in Sweden to have it looked at, the doctor informed him that one more unhindered sound blast could render him partially or completely deaf in his right ear. As it were, for several years after that, Tony would suffer horrible bouts of tinnitus, which could render him temporarily deaf in both ears. These attacks usually occurred when he pushed himself to exhaustion or when he was exposed to a knock on the head. For these, the doctors prescribed melatonin patches for it, and, if the attacks were really bad, Lidocaine injections into the inner ear.

Tony hated it, but he obeyed what the medics had told him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony took his last assignment when he was twenty-two. He’d been in control of Stark Industries for over a year, and took far less assignments than he had before. His final assignment had him returning home with a broken arm, a black eye and several fractured ribs. Tony officially retired the night he came back from the assignment.

News came that, finally after seven years and two-hundred and thirteen hits, Sunvaar Fox was retiring. A small ceremony was held to commend Tony’s service, and the Aak had a special announcement to make. In Tony’s seven years, he’d never been seen during an assignment unless he’d meant you to, a feat accomplished by only two others.

That day, Marcie bestowed upon him the title “Sah Sunvaar”, Phantom Hunter. The room had applauded him as he made a speech to thank everyone. Tony then accepted the title of Grand Master Blacksmith from Alistair and arranged with Marcie how orders would reach him at his mansion in Malibu.

Tony returned home that night on a StarkJet and, much to his chagrin, found a man in a military blues waiting for him on the tarmac. He scowled as best as he could with his bruised face. Because the biggest contract holder of SI’s weapons building division was the military, they’d been sending liaisons to him for the past year.

And Tony had chased away every single one.

He was this close to just requesting Robert as his liaison, and he would have by now, if he wasn’t overseas already. As it were, Tony came to stand before the man, looking wholly unimpressed when the man stuck his hand out. Tony didn’t bother shaking, his good arm holding his bad arm close to his chest.

“Mr. Stark, I’m Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. The Air Force sent me to-” Tony cut off the other man with a rough grunt. 

“Don’t care. I already sent the new projects over for this quarter’s review. If they have a problem with anything I sent over, make an appointment with my...shit I don’t have an assistant. Just call the offices and they'll set something up.” Turning on his heel and not giving the man any time to respond, Tony marched over to where Happy Hogan, his driver and bodyguard, was holding the car door open for him. Happy had been a lucky find. At first, Tony had wanted Tango to be his driver, but Tango didn’t want to leave the Order’s service. One night, while Tony was coming home from a late dinner, he’d been jumped. He could have defended himself but Happy, seeing the fight, rushed over to help.

Pleased and impressed with the man’s strength and easy-going attitude, Tony hired him right on the spot as his driver/bodyguard. This had been a year ago and now, they were close friends. Happy held the door for him and Tony gingerly slid into the car, pulling up a pillow he’d thrown back there and setting it against his chest and laying his arm on it.

Happy drove them home and Tony gratefully climbed out of the car and into his house, after bidding Happy to go home and enjoy his evening. Tony slid into the dark house, which immediately lit up when he entered.

“Good Evening, Sir. How may I be of assistance?”

Tony smiled, a little sadly. Jarvis, his caretaker/third father figure, had passed away while Tony was on assignment two years ago in Africa. Tony had been toying for months with the idea of an AI, and, in a spate of grief-fueled inventing, had crafted one and named it JARVIS. If anyone asked, outside of Anatassia, Brad and Robert of course, he told them it stood for “Just A Rather Very Intelligent System”, but those three knew what it really meant.

“Jarvis, have you finished integrating completely into the house?” He asked, slumping onto the couch. Jarvis had been in control of the lab and computers since he came online, but only recently had Tony begun integrating him into the rest of house’s systems and appliances.

_“I am completely integrated into the house’s systems Sir.”_

“Excellent. Start some coffee and the shower, hot but not too hot. I hurt like a bitch. When that’s done, pull up the candidates for my personal assistant, take the five best and order them, best to horrible, in efficiency, punctuality, education, ingenuity and ability to put up with asinine behavior, just in case. Then background checks, recommendations, family checks, the whole nine yards.”

_“Of course, Sir.”_

Tony lifted himself up from the couch and went to his bedroom and then, after dressing down and covering his cast with a bag and removing the bandages on his ribs, stepped into the shower. It was perfect, and he spent ten minutes just standing there and reveling in the warmth. Once he was done, he pulled on a pair of soft and worn dark blue linen pajama pants and re-bandaged his ribs before heading into the kitchen.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and then curled gingerly onto the couch, where Jarvis brought up three holographic profiles. “Jarvis, reasons for deleting two of the candidates?” He asked, carefully fingering through the other three.

_“Candidate Katy Ruddy has been convicted of Possession of an Illegal Substance, though she has been clean for three years and Candidate Henry Koza was under investigation for a murder four years ago. Although the case went nowhere, I thought it better to err on the side of caution.”_

Tony nodded. “Excellent Jarvis. Thank you.” He carefully paged through the individual reports on the remaining three, although he wasn’t terribly impressed with any of them, he knew he’d have to at least interview them before he kicked them all to the curb. “Jarvis, set up interviews for these three tomorrow morning, starting at ten, forty minutes apart.”

 _“Of course Sir.”_ Tony rose from his feet and made to put his empty cup in the sink and take his pills, but he was distracted by a knock on the door. Cursing under his breath in Norwegian as he stormed over to open it, not bothering with a shirt. “Can I help you?” He asked, dry as the Sahara desert as he flung it open.

On the other side of the door was the same military man from the airstrip and Tony could feel his eye twitch. “Are you _stalking_ me?” He hissed in disbelief, hazel eyes narrowing at the other man. The other man’s eyebrows shot up and he stumbled over his answer, but Tony waved his good hand impatiently. “Never mind that. What do you want?” He asked.

“I was ordered to get ahold of you today, but you left the airstrip before I could talk to you.” Tony rolled his eyes and was very tempted to close the door on the other man, but instead moved out of the way and allowed the other man inside. 

“Jarvis, more coffee please.” He said.

 _“Right away, Sir.”_ The AI responded and Tony had to smile when the other man jumped. Tony grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and downed it with two pain pills. That done, he poured two cups of coffee and brought one into the living room, holding it close to him as he folded himself down onto the couch.

Rhodes went and got the other before settling down in a chair across from Tony. “The General wants to know what you’re going to do about the armor for the men and women who disarm IEDs. It was supposed to be submitted to us a month ago and your liaison was supposed to present it. However, you’ve chased away every single liaison we’ve sent to you.” 

Tony snorted indelicately. “I sent it in with Corporal Richards a week before it was due. If it’s lost, it’s on him. I haven’t gotten a letter or call since he left.” He declared icily, pleased with himself when Rhodes shifted nervously in his seat.

“He said you refused to hand it over to him and then you told him to leave when he threatened to report you.” Rhodes said carefully. Tony just barely contained the growl of anger that escaped him and instead took a deep breath.

“Jarvis, pull up the security tapes for the twenty-second of last month, ten-thirty in the afternoon.” He said slowly, face blank as he stared at the man across from him. There was a quiet moment before the television screen across from where they were sitting lit up. It was a view from the left corner of Tony’s lab, and it clearly showed Tony handing a young man a large bow. _“Make sure this gets to them, Richards.”_ The image of him was saying and the young man was nodding, taking the box and leaving his lab.

There was a stony silence before Rhodes spoke. “Is there any way you can prove that this wasn’t tampered with?” He asked and Tony nodded. 

“I’ll give you a copy to take back to the base with you.” He was placated for the other man’s presence for now, because someone was accusing him of cheating men and women out of the armor they needed to work safely. Tony handed Rhodes a disk on his way out, and went to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony made Virginia Potts his personal assistant the next day. When she had gotten a job in the finance department a year ago, he’d recognized the name on the employment form instantly. He’d stopped by the finance department that afternoon and struck up a conversation, hoping she wouldn’t recognize the way he spoke, or held himself. The last thing he needed was someone trying to pin The Fox’s crimes on him. Even if they were his crimes.

She didn’t.

After that, he watched her occasionally, to make sure she didn’t remember who he was and, eventually, she fell to the wayside. Until she used pepper spray to bully her way through his door guards to point out an accounting error he’d made personally. He’d sat there, flabbergasted for a minute, but he was mindful enough to stop the guards from taking her away.

“Do you do that often? Bully your way through trained professionals to point out accounting errors?” He asked, a strange smile on his face. This woman, so different than the one he’d rescued some years ago, blushed lightly, but held her chin up high.

“Only once before.” She’d said and Tony felt a smile, bewildered though he was, spread across his face.

“How would you feel about becoming my personal assistant?” He asked and he’d watched a smile of her own spread across her face. Pepper, though he explained to her that she’d earned the nickname by macing her way through his guards, after that became a “professional Tony-herder” for living. At least that’s what he called it.

A few days later, Rhodes returned with an official letter of apology, signed by the General himself, apologising for putting Tony under the suspicion of withholding military assets. Rhodes himself made sure to apologise and Tony decided to let him stick around for the time being.

Years passed and, slowly, Tony made bonds with people outside the Order. Rhodes, whom he called Rhodey after the first week, became one of his best friends and Pepper became like a sister to him. Normally, she’d have been a love interest to him but, when someone is around you sixteen hours a day, reminding you constantly to eat and sleep and generally remember he was human, they felt more like a sister than a potential notch on his bedpost.

And then there was Obi.

Obadiah Stane, friend of the family, almost-uncle to the inventor and advisor to the young CEO had been in control of the company until Tony’s twenty-first birthday. After that, he felt to the side, occasionally steering Tony and the company in a certain direction and putting up with Tony’s playboy lifestyle. In 2009, Tony finished designs on a missile he hoped would help close things out overseas faster, the Jericho.

After some convincing from Obadiah and some prodding from Pepper the morning he was supposed to fly out, and eventually Tony and Rhodey were on a plane bound for Afghanistan.


	7. I Am Iron Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- Chapter contains discussions of torture, canon character death and canon violence.

Tony woke up in a cave, agony arcing through him with every breath. There was a tube in his nose and he could feel it snaking down to his throat, so he pulled it, gagging with every pull. The kindly man who appeared to him and explained to him what was happening, named Yinsen he would later discover, would for Tony become one of the few things that kept him going for those months.

Tony fights back, once, early on. He knows that the guards check the room where he and Yinsen are held at least twice a night. A few days in, Tony grabs a metal rod that was laying around and waits by the door. As usual the door swings open shortly after dark, and Tony strikes.

It’s a debacle of an attack, especially when he thinks back on it later. With all of his training, one would think he’d make his way through the guards as if they are so much wet paper. But he’s cradling the car battery that’s keeping him alive close on his left side, and it’s throwing his entire form off. His fingers, numb with cold and pain, can barely hold to pole. He manages to take down three guards before another gets the jump on him and slams the butt of his rifle into the back of his neck.

When Tony wakes up, he’s on his knees, back straight against a weight bearing wooden pillar, his wrists tied behind him and the battery moved as far away from him as possible, stretching the wires away from him. They keep him like this for sixteen hours, occasionally moving the battery further away, forcing him to lean forward and strain his shoulders so he wouldn’t be disconnected from the improvised life support.

Tony’s an assassin. He’s trained to sneak past guards, kill people in almost every way imaginable. He’s fed crime lords to feral dogs and he’s rescued children from trees. He’s not trained to gather information. He’s not trained to resist torture. He’s not ready for the creak and groan of bones and muscles after being stretched for hours and he’s only a little ashamed to admit he bawled with relief when Yinsen pressed an herb poultice to his arms that evening, bundling him a blanket and sitting with him as sensation, accompanied by the fiery burn of pins and needles, returned to his arms.

Tony had basic training for captivity, but he wasn’t equipped for waterboarding, something that drove damp and infection into his already damaged chest. He wasn’t equipped for what little food and drink they would be given, or the near crippling cold that permeated the cave at night. He wasn’t ready for the almost casual beatings, guards strolling past delivering sharp hits to any part he left open, sometimes with hands, more often with the butt of their rifles. 

Several times Tony noticed, while he building the Arc Reactor, that anything on his right side was muffled to him. And Tony knew that, when the bomb had gone off next to him, he’d damaged his ear again. Yinsen did his best when Tony admitted the difficulty hearing, making sure to stand to Tony’s left, speaking slowly and never approaching from the right. Tony’s captors had no such qualms about this and saw fit to use it to their advantage.

And then they built the suit. Tony made sure to have Yinsen help him as much as the other man could, but more often Yinsen was caring for Tony’s chest, keeping the area around the reactor wall clean as possible, helping him clear his chest when his captors tortured him and keeping his right ear as clear as possible.

And then Tony escaped. And Yinsen didn’t. He’d felt a combination of such rage and sadness that it surprised him to feel such a mix of emotions for someone who he’d known for only a few months. After the cave-base was destroyed and Tony landed from his flying escape, he wandered for a day and a half before he was found. Rhodey dropped down to wrap him in a tight hug, demanding Tony ride with him from then on. And Tony let him.

At the base, he was rushed to the medical bay. The cuts and lacerations he’d gained over the three months were disinfected and bandaged up, he was given antibiotics for the infection in his chest and a nurse, looking sympathetic as she did it, stuffed his ear with cotton wadding and taped a guazepad over it.

With emergency medicine taken care off, he was put on a helicopter to a naval hospital in Germany, where a grim-faced young doctor informed Tony he was seventy-nine percent deaf in his right ear. He was given care instructions and a temporary hearing aid, clear and surprisingly fit for his ear, and then sent back to the states on a plane, guarded ruthlessly by Rhodey the entire way.

Tony slept most of the way, Rhodey guarding his right side after the first nurse woke Tony for his medicine and scared him because he hadn’t heard her approach, as he hadn’t slipped in the hearing aid yet. Rhodey tried to get him to eat, but, after months of starvation rations, Tony could barely stomach more than six ounces or so of food at a time without being ill.

Tony barely eats. It’s all Rhodey can do to get him to drink a couple of ounces of a protein shake every six hours and keep it down. The MREs some of the other soldiers on the plane offer Tony make him ill within the first few bites. Tony jokes with everyone that he’s saving room for cheeseburgers back stateside, but the words ring hollow. A majority of the flight crew on the plane have gone through SERE training, and know what a long-term starvation diet can do to someone’s body. The others aboard have all been on tours of duty, where supplies went thin and their three-thousand calorie-a-day bodies were only getting half of what they actually needed. But they let him have the excuse, and Tony knows it, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

When they began to near the airstrip in California, Tony slipped into a suit he’d had Rhodey pick up in Germany. Everything hurt when he moved, but he pushed through, having felt worse before. A medic on board helped him put his arm back in the sling it had been in before and then Rhodey clipped the hearing aid in. The rush of noise on the right side disoriented him for a moment and it took a moment for him to readjust to the noise.

And then the plane landed. It was easy to tell the Pepper was this close to running over and wrapping him in a hug, but she seemed to realize he didn’t want that at the moment and instead took part in their usual banter with him. Tony slid into the car next to her, waving away her order for Happy to take them to hospital and instead demanding first a cheeseburger and then a press conference.

He had an announcement to make.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His announcement that Stark Industries was quitting the weapons business brought massive backlash. Tony watched with tired eyes from his workshop as stock numbers plummeted and newscasters and talk show hosts around the world talked about how the captivity had messed with him. The Board of Directors was calling for an injunction, Obadiah was pressuring him to release the Arc Reactor technology.

But, he wasn't alone. Pepper stood with him, even after he made her help him to remove the old reactor from his chest and put in a new one. Brad and Anatassia had shown up at his house the day after he’d returned to the states, immediately fussing over his injuries. Tony had borne up under it for a few days, placidly letting them cook food for him he could barely finish half a serving of, wrap him in blankets and keep him from standing up and doing anything.

Tony was warmed to know that the Order had been looking for him, assassins between assignments skulking about the desert near where the attack had occurred, trying to find proof of where he was being held. When he returned to the states, he’d received a massive basket of fruit, cookies, Alexander’s special catmint tea and Hatsuharu’s favorite Swiss hot chocolate. Flowers and cards had poured in, and even individual stuffed animals, black and red ribbons tied loosely about their necks or paws, from his closest friends at the den.

Robert, though he was overseas with his unit, paid to have a massive stuffed lion delivered, with an ebony and crimson bow tie and attached get well card. His favorite though was a small, nine-tailed fox plushie, which magically appeared on Tony’s table the morning Brad and Anatassia left back for New York.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Refining and rebuilding the suit was a bit slapstick for anything he’d done before. Frankly, throwing himself into a concrete roof barrier, while hilarious when looked at later, hurt like bitch when it happened, and aggravated the old injury to his back. But when the Mark II was flight capable, Tony was in awe. it was unlike anything he’d ever done before. And, with his life before taking over the company, that was a very short list.

The night of the party, when Tony found out it was Obadiah who’d levied the injunction against him, he’d been so angry he’d wanted to punch the older man in the face. When he found that his weapons were being used against civilians in the Middle East he’d wanted to blow something up. When he got even the smallest suspicion that Obadiah was the one selling the weapons, Tony wanted to do something much more than punch the older man.

Instead, he took the Mark III, fully fight capable at that point, out to the village from the picture and destroyed the weapons there and left the ringleader to the villagers. Flying back was terrible, considering he almost got blown out of the sky while doing it.

When he returned and Pepper caught him trying to remove the armor with the help of the assembly bots, he spent all of five minutes convincing her to help him. He’s serious, and sincere. He wants to help people. Wants to erase the damage the Stark Weapons have wrought upon the world. And she agreed. On her way out the door, she stopped to look at the little glass box that sat on one of his tool chests. Inside, on a little pedestal, was the old Arc Reactor, proclaiming _“Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart”_. 

She’d left that for him some days ago, and it had a brought a small, wry smile to his face when he’d seen it. When she left, he spent the day in a large room, with polished wooden floors and a proper sound system. There was nothing to build, the suit was up to date and he was bored, plus his back was bugging him again. So he danced. He spent almost six hours in the room, dancing alone or with an imaginary partner.

When he finished, night had begun to fall and so he went and showered before changing into a pair of comfortable clothes. He padded barefoot into the living room. And immediately regretted it. The high pitched whining, something that reminded him of his tinnitus fits, filtered into his ears and he could feel the muscles of his body locking up. 

He collapsed on the couch and a sick feeling rose in his gut as Obadiah, a man he thought he could trust, loomed over him, all sick smile and slimy words as he ripped the very core of Tony’s existence from his chest. Left alone beyond that, Tony struggled to force his limbs to move until, finally, staggering like a drunken sailor as he struggled to breath, agony wracking his body, he made for the elevator.

In his workshop, he collapsed and struggled for the old reactor, encased in glass and seemingly just out of reach. And just as his world seemed to be darkening for the last time, there was a crash, a concerned voice and then he was helping, fingers fumbling, to slip the old reactor into his chest. With a jolt, his chest heaved and he could breath.

It took a moment, but soon he was breathing and on his feet. He tossed a few words at Rhodey, but he was already half in to the suit, ready to fly away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony doesn't like to talk about that night. He likes to pretend that it never happened. The day of the press conference to explain the Stark Industries building that exploded, there’s a busted suit sitting in his lab, awaiting repairs, he’s sore all over and Pepper is this close to doting on him like a mother-hen. He bears up under it, smiling a little shakily when Pepper runs a hand over his face every once in awhile, like she can’t believe he’s actually there.

SHIELD makes him nervous, their closeness to him now that this whole debacle was over with made his skin crawl. They assigned Phil Coulson as damage control. Tony hadn't recognized him when he approached him at the party, weeks ago. He’d lost some hair and perfected his poker face, and Tony hadn't been paying much attention anyway. When he’d strode into Tony’s living room, a few hours before the press conference, Tony had flailed momentarily, almost spitting the coffee he’d been drinking all across the pristine white floor. But Coulson hadn't shown an ounce of recognition in Tony’s voice or posture and, after a while Tony had fallen into a wary vigilance.

Now, he stood on a podium, again before dozens of reporters who are awaiting his next announcement with barely constrained eagerness. Tony thinks back to the article he was reading not ten minutes before, a picture of the damaged Mark III flying over the highway and the title of Iron Man in bold letters above.

He threw the prearranged speech cards over his shoulder and a small, almost secretive, smile plays across his lips for a moment before he straightens out his face. He speaks with a strength and bravado he doesn't really feel at that moment, but knows he will later, and he makes a proclamation.

“The truth is...I am Iron Man.”


	8. The Shadows of The Past

Tony started to feel sick a few weeks after the “I am Iron Man” announcement. It started slowly, with pain in his stomach and almost constant headaches. He ignored it for the most part, and it was easy when the pain ebbed and he’d taken something for the pounding in his head.

But by the time month three had come and gone, he could deny it no longer. He was vomiting almost like clockwork, bluish-purple lines criss-crossed his gums and his chest around the reactor and he could constantly taste metal, a heavy, pungent flavor at the back of his throat. Tony recognizes the systems of heavy metal toxicity. 

Twice he went to a private clinic in Canada for Chelation therapy, something that added another few months to his life before the metal began to build to fatal levels again. He built a scanner for his blood, so he could watch the toxicity levels rise, watch his own death slowly approaching. In normal circumstances, a patient would be removed from the source of the poisoning. 

But Tony’s sat heavily in his chest, a constant reminder. Without it, he’d die a horrible death in eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds. With it, he’d have six more months of agony before the poison in his blood took his life.

He ran dozens of simulations on every viable element and combination of elements he could think of, but nothing proved a replacement for the palladium core of the Arc Reactor. That night, he destroyed sixteen targets with his Bo staff. It wasn’t clean, drunk and angry as he was and in the morning, he found himself laid out amongst the shattered remains of wooden targets, metal struts and cotton-batting flung far and near.

He hides it from Pepper, from Rhodey and Brad and Anatassia. He hides it from the press and from the Order and the public.

Because Tony Stark was dying, a little bit at a time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few weeks before the StarkExpo, when the toxicity levels of his blood have begun to reach critical stage again, Tony boarded one of his planes and directed the pilot to the small airstrip in faraway Canada. The cabin where he sits, staring contemplatively into a tumbler of chlorophyll and fighting a raging hangover, is silent. He was the only one on board, save the pilot and his co-pilot/mechanic.

Tony knew he wasn’t going to get to see the end of the StarkExpo. At the rate his blood was gathering the toxins given off by the Arc Reactor, he’d be lucky if he had another month and a half left. 

The plan had always been for the Order to handle his funeral, as was the tradition. It was written into his will that Brad and Anatassia would be in charge of his funeral arrangements when he passed away, in the event of an accident or illness. If he passed of old age, then a younger person whom he trusted from the Order would be put in charge. As it were, he stood to have a traditional funeral with full honors.

Now he just had to break the news.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Not much later found Tony in an awkward position. In the office that the Aak had worked out of, one of the walls had thirteen pictures. These pictures, of men and women of varying ages and races, were the Order’s _“Do Not Engage”_ list. Assassins and spies, unaffiliated with any government. They took the highest paying jobs, were deadly and, if employed by a target, served as effective deterrents for the group of animal-masked assassins.

In the center of the lineup was a woman, with skin the color of porcelain and hair like fire, known only by her moniker, “The Black Widow”. This, of course, made Tony cautious of the woman that walked in with Pepper the day he signed over Stark Industries to her, who could have been the twin of the woman in the picture. She looked so eerily familiar that he called her into the ring where he and Happy had been practicing, staring at her for near thirty seconds before he retreated to the couch where Pepper had sat down.

He tapped into the Stark Industries personnel records on the tabletop screen, pulled up a picture and attached it to an email, with the sentence “Look familiar?” as the subject. He sent it to Marcie and then went about signing over his company to Pepper, whom he knew would take great care of the company when he was gone. He joked around with Pepper about “Needing one”, as the woman left the workout room, though in his head he was seriously considering it.

A few hours later, entrenched in his workshop, Jarvis pulled up the response from Marcie and Tony cringed as he read it aloud to himself. “Dear Anthony, what in the actual hell are you doing hanging out with Black Widow? Have we taught you nothing?!” The rest of the email went on to berate him for his lack of self-preservation and Tony had to smile. Marcie took her job of taking care of her assassins very seriously, even if they were retired.

Suspicions now confirmed and seeing a chance to “Keep his enemies closer”, Tony picked up the phone and dialed the Legal department.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Building a miniature particle accelerator in his basement and recreating a lost element? Easy.

Saving his entire Expo from a horde of rampaging battle droids and a guy with a grudge? Walk in the park.

Apologising to the woman who may as well be a sister to him for not telling her he was dying? A little more complicated, but doable.

Consoling said woman over her breakup with a female spy who’d been stationed to watch Tony while he was dying by a shady government agency and discovering almost everything she’d told them had been a lie? Tony wasn’t trained for that.

Which is why, when Pepper showed up at the Malibu mansion, which had been made livable again by a very dedicated and well-payed crew of men fixing the walls, floors and windows, more than a little tipsy and teary-eyed, Tony did the only thing he could think of. He ushered her inside, made her a mug of hot chocolate, topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and sat there while she cried and ranted, arms wrapped around her uselessly.

Finally she exhausted herself and fell asleep against her chest, face illuminated by the dim glow of light blue that came from beneath his threadbare t-shirt. Tony lay there, scrunched against the side of the couch. He pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over their bodies before laying back the rest of the way. “Jarvis, lights please. Throw up a fire while you’re at it.” He whispered.

Around him, the room grew dark and the fire came alive, casting the room in long shadows as Tony settled comfortably into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Pepper finds out his biggest secret three months after the Palladium incident. He had been sitting at the island in the kitchen, laboriously polishing his weapons and caring for his bow and arrows. While he still practiced frequently with wooden versions of his sword and Bo staff, the actual weapons themselves sat on a display in a room he had hidden away and locked to open with his bio-signature only.

So, once a month, Tony took the weapons and his mask out of the display room, gently dusted and polished them, and sharpened them if need be. Pepper was away on Stark Industries business for the next couple of nights in Japan, so Tony took his time. She wasn’t supposed to be back until the end of the week. 

An Iron Man alarm calls him from the counter where he was working, leaving everything he owned from his “previous life” out in the open. And, since life hated him with a passion, Pepper walked in the front door the minute he was up in the air. He wasn’t there to hear her scream.

_Sometime Later_

When Tony returned sometime later, the first thing he does is have to dodge a vase flying at his head. Training kicked in, his brain and body recognizing only Attack! and not the fact that it’s Pepper throwing the face at him. He’s strikes fast and soon he’s on top of his “assailant”, pinning her to the ground. When the defensive veil lifts and he notices it’s the CEO of his company he’s pounced, he rolls off of her, stumbling out an apology.

Pepper looks equal parts infuriated and terrified and it shows as she stands up and puts her back to the wall. Inside, Tony’s cursing a storm in every language he knows. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet! Now she knew everything. Well, not everything, but enough to get him the death penalty if she tells the police. 

“Pepper...I know it’s a lot to handle, but I need you to calm down.” He says, hands up in the classic ‘I’m unarmed’ position. There’s a brief moment of stillness before Pepper’s body exploded into motion, fury overtaking fear like a raging inferno.

_“A lot to handle!?!?!”_ She screams at him and Tony winces at the volume of it. With a swift motion behind his back, Jarvis engages the sound dampeners. “Tony you’re an assassin! A murderer! Is your name even Tony!?” The last question surprises Tony and he takes a minute to but his mind back on the rails. He takes a step back.

“Alright, let’s just breath for a minute. Pepper, there’s a lot you’re not taking into account here. And yes, my name is actually Tony. Why would I lie about that?” To Tony’s surprise, she actually seems to relax a bit and Tony takes another step back to give her more of a safety space. “Alright, I know you have a lot of questions. But there are protocols for this.”

“Protocols?” She asks and Tony nodded.

“If you were someone I didn't trust with my life, I have orders to kill you, dispose of the body and wipe the name Tony Stark out of existence and assume one of my backup identities. But you’re you, and I’d trust you with my life. But now I have to call someone.” He takes a deep breath and casts his eyes upward. “Jarvis, call Marcie on the “Fineline”.” There’s a quiet response of “yes, sir” from the AI and then the sound of a ringing phone. 

_“Hello?”_ He’s relieved to hear Marcie’s voice.

“Aak. It’s Sunvaar Fox. Code Orange. Major Code Orange here, like I could use some help right about now.” He said. A sharp intake of breath on the other line.

_“Are you alright, Fox?”_ She asked and Pepper blinked at him from across the room.

“I’m fine, Aak. But I’ve been exposed by my CEO. I trust her.”

_“Fox....Do you pledge it on your name?”_ She asked.

“I, Sunvaar Fox, pledge on my name, that Virginia Potts can be trusted.” He said with confidence. Pepper, while a little more relaxed, was still tense as she watched the interaction.

_“And if she can’t be?”_

“She can.”

_“But if she can’t....”_

“I. Will. Handle it.” He hissed and he knows his tone is bordering on insubordination but, as he’s retired, he’s got a little more leeway with it. There’s a moment of silence. 

_“Very well, Fox. Good luck.”_ And then there’s the sound of the call being ended. Tony instructed Jarvis to send out a few pre-arranged emails to Brad and Anatassia, and an encoded message to Robert at the base he’s at, as well as another letter to Alexander.

“Why don’t we go in the kitchen and talk.” He turns and leaves the room first, giving her his back as a show of trust and he can hear the sound of her heels on the hardwood, so he knows she’s following him. When they reach the kitchen Tony put everything back in order and lay them gently on the table and the grabbed a few bottles of water from the fridge.

Pepper had already sat down at the table and accepted one. Tony sat and, after a moment of silence, told her his story. He answered questions he could and, after almost three hours Pepper seemed almost satisfied. Businesslike and brusque, she left the house and returned the next day with Brad and Anatassia in tow, having picked them up from the airport with Happy like he’d asked the driver to.

Brad and Anatassia, both of whom Pepper had met before, and, when they give her much of the same story about Tony and his exploits as “Fox”, she accepts them, sometimes with a grimace as they describe training mistakes and accidents and sometimes with a smile when she imagines tiny-Tony’s joy as he’s constantly learning something new. She asks about the night he saved her and Tony tells her the truth. He was on assignment when he saw her being attacked and helped her out of the goodness of his heart.

It takes a while, several weeks and months, before she’s comfortable around them again. Tony doesn’t know if it’s the day she catches Brad, Anatassia and himself in the media room belting out the lyrics of Moulin Rouge while they watch the movie, each with their own part. He doesn’t know if it’s the day she catches Anatassia and he dancing in the makeshift-ballroom. All he knows is that it’s nice to have her in his corner anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the months following, Tony’s life continued on as normal. As Iron Man, he was around the world almost constantly. As a consultant for SHIELD he could be in and out of various headquarters at any point of the week and as the head of the R&D department at Stark Industries he often had to put hours in at the building, looking over the projects that the other scientists were working on. Though he often complained about the latter Pepper, who’d stayed on as CEO after the debacle at the Expo, made sure he was there at least once a week, whether she had to drag him there forcibly or not.

Eventually they began plans for a new building in Manhattan, which would be, by Tony’s design both a Stark industries building and his new home. A month after the Expo, Tony and Stark Industries signed off on a plot of land and, armed with several blueprints, construction began. In Malibu, Tony sequestered himself in his lab, muttering something along the lines of _“giant reactor”_ and _“clean energy”_ as he went.

A week later, Pepper, backed up by Rhodey and bearing a massive cup of coffee, stormed his lab, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and marched him upstairs, scolding him along the way for not taking better care of himself. After a shower and breakfast, she sent Tony to bed, much like a scolded toddler and told him that if he came out of that room without sleeping at least nine hours, she’d remove all coffee from the premises. Tony slept for ten hours. When he awoke the following morning, Pepper was immediately bustling him into a suit and out the door, as he had meetings to attend today and work to catch up on at the office.

What followed was one of the weirdest days of Tony’s life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It started in the lab after his board meeting. Tony was bent over an intern’s desk examining the finished chemical blueprints for their new Protoskin fabric when suddenly the intern burst into tears. Tony flailed. He had no idea to handle a crying intern. After a few seconds he patted the intern on the shoulder and asked what was wrong. It turned out that the intern’s funding had been cut and he was going to have to drop out of the program to get a full-time job so he could pay to finish his PhD. Tony fixed that right away. The intern, named Johnson if he remembered correctly, had received great marks from the supervisors and would be a boon to the company so Tony decided to pay down what Johnson needed. 

After receiving a very enthusiastic hug, which he returned stiffly, Tony went to his office, content to squirrel himself away for the rest of the day. When he reached his office he noticed that his assistant, a young woman whom Pepper had recommended highly, was on the phone, teary-eyed. When she put down the phone there was a moment of silence before she burst into tears. Flailing again, but having a better idea on how to handle the situation, Tony asked her what the problem was. Her younger brother, shot to death in a mugging. Tony winced in sympathy, offered her his condolences and two weeks paid vacation, along with the promise of a flower arrangement.

When his assistant had left, and Pepper had sent up a temp, Tony finally made it into the office, where he settled in to do the paperwork he had promised Pepper he would finish. An hour later, there was a knock at his door and Tony looked up. “Come in!” He called and the doors opened.

The temp, a young man with short blonde hair, crept in the room, holding a mug of steaming coffee and a folder. Tony had asked for both about five minutes ago, and Tony was impressed with the speed with which he had obtained them both. The man put both on the desk and then cleared his throat.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a woman outside, says her name is Anatassia Abramovich and she’d like to see you.” Tony’s head shot up. What was Anatassia doing out in California?

“Send her in.” He ordered and the man nodded, scurrying out of the room. There was a still moment before the door opened and Anatassia breezed inside. She was almost as tall as he was, standing a five feet and six inches and she was nicely curved with red hair, fern green eyes and lightly tan skin. Even Tony, who tended to lean towards the male persuasion when pursuing a partner, could appreciate her good looks.

She had a silk sling tied around her neck, the bulk of whatever was inside resting in the crook of her left arm while her right clutched a large baby bag. Tony sat up straight as he took in her equally determined and panicked expression and rose from his desk. “What’s the matter?” He asked, coming around the desk to stand before her.

“Do you still have your fostering license?” She asked, the barest trace of her accent slipping through. The fact that Tony loved animals was no secret among his friends. When he’d lived at the den, he and Anatassia often ended up nursing abandoned or injured animals back to health, with the help of the resident vet. For his eighteenth birthday, Tony had taken the test to receive a license to foster animals for zoos and wildlife sanctuaries. He renewed his license every five years.

“I do. What’s the matter, ‘Tassa? You look like you’re about to explode.” He asked. There was a still moment before Anatassia set the bag down and, with her now-free hand, pulled the edge of the sling down so Tony could peer inside. He gasped.

Inside, nestled amongst what appeared to be several flannel pillowcase, was a tiny, piebald-colored fox kit. The kit was asleep, tiny chest moving in even, measure breaths and Tony looked up at Anatassia in shock. “Where did you get this?” He asked, quietly.

“A patient came into the practice and we diagnosed him with Leptospirosis and he gave us permission to search his house to find and remove to the source. He bought two of those Siberian pet foxes, you know the ones that are meant to be tame? They had a litter but the female caught leptospirosis and died and the male couldn’t feed the kits and so all except this one died.” She rushed out.

Tony placed both hands on her shoulders. “Breath for me, ‘Tassa. Good. Now, tell me why you brought him here.” He said gently and steered her to the couch, where she sat down.

“The owner can’t have the foxes anymore and no-one was available right away to take care of this guy and he still gets milk. The vets said that if they couldn’t find someone to take care of him, he would die. He can’t go to a zoo or wildlife sanctuary because he’s tame. So I said I knew a guy who could take care of him and now I’m here.” Tony bit his lip. If the kit was still getting milk, that means he’d have to be watched twenty-four seven until he was weaned. While Tony could have him in the lab in a playpen or in a sling while in the office, there was still his duties as Iron Man to think about.

“I don’t know ‘Tassa...” He began and then froze when he noticed the wetness gathering in her eyes. “Oh no please don’t cry. I can’t handle any more crying people today.” He sighed heavily and looked at the sling again, where the kit had come awake and was now staring about himself with wide blue eyes. Tony gently reached in and scooped the kit up, bringing him to rest against his chest. 

The little fox wriggled about for a minute and then settled against the warmth of his chest, blue eyes drifting shut. The kit was mostly white, but Tony could see the beginnings of black markings on his face, muzzle, back and paws. Dammit, he was doomed. “Does he have a name yet?’ He asked and Anatassia’s face brightened considerably.

“Inari.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Time flew after that. Inari bonded with Tony closely as the man took care of him and, even after he was large enough the follow Tony around on his own four paws, Tony liked to carry Inari around in a larger version of the kit-sling, which neither one minded.

A near year after the Expo, Tony and Pepper were called to Manhattan to put the finishing touches on Stark Tower. Tony left Inari with Rhodey, who was on leave, and boarded a plane with Pepper to the city.

Once there, Tony and Pepper were immediately busy, Tony setting up the reactor to power the tower and Pepper to finalize everything else. The night Tony activated the massive reactor, Phil Coulson showed up with information for the Avengers Initiative.

And then the world to hell in a neat handbasket.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony’s next few days are a blur of pain, anger, near-death experiences and ruined childhood memories. Tony swears he didn’t go on that Helicarrier prepared to hate Steve Rogers’ guts, but he sure as hell leaves doing just that. He was disappointed, really. His father had told him stories about the man, showed him pictures of he, the man himself, and the Howling Commandos. Many nights Tony had fallen asleep, lulled there by his father’s tales of a hero for the ages. The guy on the Helicarrier? A joke.

So, Tony’s a little stung, but he keeps on, for the sake of saving the planet, and doesn’t argue with Steve and he even talks to him after Coulson dies and finds out where Loki’s planning his mass invasion. In the fight that follows, Tony takes quite a few bangs and even flies a nuke into space, which besides the _“I’m dead now”_ factor, is actually pretty cool.

Dinner at the Shawarma restaurant is an exercise in exhaustion as they all struggle to down enough food to keep themselves from falling over. Tony invites them all to spend a few days in the tower, which has plenty of rooms for everyone and they all take him up on his offer. Tony’s limping by now, and it catches Natasha’s attention, and she calls him on it. He plays it off as landing heavy in the suit and promises to rest it when they get home, and she accepts his deflection, but seems to know he’s lying.

People think that, when he’s fighting in the suit, the parts that take the most abuse are his head, chest and abdomen. But that’s not true. Although Tony’s a brilliant engineer, there was no way for him to completely weld the boots of the suit on the inside. Because he can’t fit shoes into the boots, he wears Nomex covers on his feet to protect them, but even those can’t stand up against a sudden articulation of inner circuitry. Oftentimes his feet, after a long or especially vicious battle come away nicked and bloody. He’s singed his hands on the repulsors before he started wearing Nomex gloves and his left knee often takes more hits than the rest of him.

So, in a drawer near the entry into the building from the dearmoring platform, he keeps a change of clothes, several rolls of gauze and Coban and soft brace. After he’s directed everyone to their rooms for the night he goes there and brings the supplies with him to the bedroom, where he strips down to nothing and revels in a hot shower that lasts nearly an hour.

When he’s done, he dresses in a pair of boxers and a threadbare t-shirt, doctors his feet and pulls on the brace and falls into bed.

He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes up, it’s still dark outside, but the barest hint of gray peeks in through the window that he orders Jarvis to uncurtain. When he asks, Jarvis reports that the others are still asleep and that Pepper, Anatassia, Brad and Rhodey are waiting for him in the living room, all of them having just arrived from various places.

Tony threw on a pair of baggy cargo shorts and rolled out of the bed, wincing as his entire body shouted in aching pain. He limped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the main floor, almost falling asleep as he waited until the elevator opened. Pepper was on him first, one hand gripping his ear and starting up a lecture on his _“stupidity and lack of self-preservation”_ and how _“if you ever do that again I will string you up by your balls and gut you!”_. 

Tony apologized profusely and then Pepper handed him off to Anatassia, who continued on with the lecture while she checked him over, turning his head so she could see his eyes and the cuts on his face, she peered at the Arc Reactor after making him pull up his shirt. She demanded a full exam later and then handed him off to Rhodey. Rhodey simply held his shoulders and seemed to reassure himself that Tony was indeed there and smiled as he called him an idiot.

And then he was handed to Brad, who enveloped Tony in a hug. Tony tucked his head under Brad’s chin and leaned heavily against the other man, eyes drooping shut, just reveling in the warmth of the embrace. Pepper and Anatassia knew that he still held a torch for Brad (because those two knew everything, damn them) and made twin _“awwing”_ sounds as he flipped them the bird behind Brad’s back.

“You’re falling asleep on your feet.” The other man grunted, the scratch of his own stubble rough against the abraded skin of Tony’s forehead. There’s a conversation going on around him, but Tony lets it slide, not bothering to pay attention. It’s been more than a year since his last major physical exertion, let alone fighting an alien invasion and flying a nuclear device into space. Cut him some slack.

He fades for a while after that, and the next time he comes back to himself, he’s on the couch, Inari in his lap. His feet have been cleaned and re-bandaged and there’s a cool circle on his chest, near the Arc Reactor. “His chest sounds clear. But if the reactor went out yesterday when he fell, it would explain the exhaustion. His body’s compensating for the heart failure that began. He just needs food and rest, and someone should watch over him for the next fourty-eight hours. Brad and I can take eight hour shifts while we’re not at the hospital, but can you fill in that third shift, Dr. Banner?”

A soft response and Tony opened his eyes, Bruce and Natasha are standing alongside the group of four from before, Bruce looking worried and the wound tension in Natasha’s shoulders giving away her nerves at the situation. He’d been upset and distrustful of Natasha after the incident a year ago, but he was glad she was fighting on his team. Tony’s about to speak up when Inari is lifted from his lap and placed on the couch next to his hip and a steaming bowl of chili is placed in his hands. 

He brightens a little because Anatassia’s chili is the best and doesn’t have a lot of beans, and on the lamp table beside him someone else sets down a glass of chlorophyll, which Tony had ended up liking after having to drink it for month and a mug of what Tony recognizes as catmint tea. Before he settles down to eat, he looks up.

“What about clean-up? Shouldn’t we be out helping?” He asks, taking a bite of chili and almost wiggling in pleasure. Everyone seems to know the reaction he’s tamping down on because Pepper smiles fondly and runs her fingers through his hair from her spot behind the couch, making sure her nails scratch against the scalp just the way he likes it.

“That’s what I came to tell you, Stark. Fury wants us to lay low for a few days, until some of the heat blows over. Besides, safety workers are out controlling fires and gas leaks and SHIELD agents are combing the area for any aliens. They don’t think they’ll find any, but he won’t put out the call for clean-up volunteers for three days or so.”

Tony nods and watches as Natasha leaves with a tray of food and two steaming mugs, sustenance for Clint and herself, Tony assumes. He settles heavily into the couch under everyone else’s watchful eyes, content for the moment to eat his chili, let Pepper to scratch his head and purr like a contented cat and allow himself to revel in the feeling that he’s just helped save the world.


	9. A Major Lift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used in this chapter include "3055 by Olafur Arnalds" and "Rain by Blackmill"(The short version).

Tony slept that night, better than he had in a long time and, when he woke up the next morning, he could barely feel the aches and pains from the day before. And then he remembered why. Brad had dosed him strongly with Advil the night before, because Tony had barely been able to stand up off the couch when he went to shower.

For now, content that he was okay to move around, he stood up and grabbed clean clothes from the dresser and made for the shower. Today was the day that Thor would return to Asgard with Loki, so he made sure to grab a suit. When he was done and dressed, he pulled on a pair of socks and had Jarvis remove the curtains from the window. It still wasn’t morning yet, and the sky was only just turning gray. If he kept this up, everyone might think he actually had a normal schedule.

Sighing, he made his way to the elevator and headed down to the main floor, almost certain that he’d be the only one awake. Jarvis was feeding him headlines and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, socked feet silent as he shuffled about the carpeted elevator box. When it hit the main floor, he stepped out, head down as he mumbled to himself some design and the elements he would need for it to work.

He noticed there was a soft shuffling and some whispered words from the kitchen but, assuming it to be either Clint or Natasha getting food, he ignored it. He didn’t look up until he heard the familiar _“wow wow wow”_ of Inari greeting him and asking for food. He looked up, customary response on the tip of his tongue. And froze.

His kitchen was full of people.

“Jesus!” He hissed in surprised response and everyone burst into laughter. In the massive open area of the kitchen and dining room were, with little doubt, almost fifty people, all of them grinning brightly. Standing in the center were Pepper, Brad and Anatassia, the last obviously fresh off of a shift at one of the hospitals and Brad obviously ready to head to one. Tony recognized chefs, medics, teachers and assassins he'd worked with for years.

“What are you all doing here?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice. Alexander emerged from the crowd and wrapped his old student in an embrace, one which Tony readily returned. 

“Well, of course we saw everything on the news, and we knew that the city was going to need volunteers and the lovely Virginia here volunteered to bring a group of us out here and put us up during the cleanup and reconstruction. There’s more coming, this is just all we could get on the first StarkJet out. Ms. Potts even offered to cover any wages we lost at our other jobs.”

Tony widened his eyes and looked at Pepper, who just smiled at Tony softly and handed him his first cup of coffee, which he obviously needed to get going. Once his cup was in hand he reached in the refrigerator and pulled out one of the numerous containers of cubed raw meat and cooked rice. He conversed with the others in the room, pleased to find they had already ordered breakfast from a deli a ways away and that Happy and a few of the others had gone in a van to pick it up.

He grabbed a small skillet from where they hung over the stove and dished half of the contents of the container into the warmed pan. The rest went back and Tony grabbed a familiar steel dish from the cabinets. When the meat was half-way cooked, he placed it in the dish and then on the ground, which earned him a nuzzle from Inari, who’d been in Pepper’s arms. Just as he was pouring his second cup of coffee there was a commotion from the entryway and Tony went out with a few others to pull in the bags and boxes.

Just like they used to in the den, everyone found a spot somewhere on the floor or furniture and the food and coffee made rounds to everyone (luckily, someone had seen fit to buy plastic silverware and paper plates) until everyone had dished their fill. They sat around for awhile, talking and laughing like it was old times, and Tony smiled more than he had in awhile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve Rogers prided himself on keeping a tight schedule, but after the invasion, he figured he was entitled to a few mornings of sleeping in. It felt weird, sleeping in Tony’s massive, futuristic tower and, truth be told, he was surprised that the other man had offered him a room after their confrontation on the Helicarrier.

Tony was much like his father in that most of the time, you wanted to strangle, slap or yell at him and the rest of the time, you just wanted to laugh at his jokes, ruffle his hair or hug him. It made being around him a pain and Steve wasn’t looking forward to continued coexistence with the other man if he was constantly acting like a jerk.

And so, it was a surprise to the Captain when he left his room and headed for the kitchen at eight in the morning that day to find the entryway filled with the rest of team, who were peering into the area of the kitchen/dining room with rapt expressions. Before Steve could ask what was going on, Clint was hushing him and motioning him to look over his shoulders. And Steve gaped.

The area was absolutely full of people, every one of which was occupied with something to drink, empty food plates stacked neatly in a box and shoved off to the side near the broom closet. Steve could differentiate coffee, tea, juice and milk from the pots left upon the stove, the massive industrial coffee maker and the empty jugs.

They were sitting on the floors, chairs, counters and a few of them were even sitting atop the fridge and table. Tony was sitting on the island with Pepper, a woman with red hair and man with sharp blue eyes, something white and fluffy cradled in his lap and blushing a new shade of red not even Steve’s artist eyes could name.

The occupants of the kitchen were listening raptly to a woman who was standing by the entry to the livingroom, gesturing with her hands and speaking, her voice showing the strain of holding back laughter. 

“S-so he comes out of the locker room, right and he looks like just the kind of target our perp was looking for. He’d cut his hair like that Matt Damon dude, the one in the Bourne movies, and he’s wearing a french maid outfit and these tabby cat ears and tail. The guys are laughing Tony’s just grinning a storm and he strikes this pose and asks _“Does this skirt make me look fat?”_ and one of the rookies tells him to go and ask the captain. So what does he do? Turns around on his heel, and I don’t even know how he managed such a move in the pumps we gave him and he marches right up to the captain, turns around and flips up his skirt and goes: _“Captain, dearest, do these panties make my ass look fat?”_.”

The room burst into raucous laughter and Tony tried to hide his face in his hands, but the man he was leaning against was laughing so hard he shook Tony’s body. “Damnit Shasha you promised never to tell that story again!” He wailed, which started another round of laughter from everyone else.

“Aww, but kitten, we love you. And telling embarrassing stories is how we show you we love you.” The woman with red hair on the island cooed and Tony blushed harder.

“Am I ever going to live that name down, ‘Tassa? It’s been months!” He asked, a faux-whine leeching into his voice. The woman smiled brightly.

“Not unless those pictures suddenly disappear, ‘Nio. And they’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” Tony rolled his eyes and then looked over at the entryway where they were all standing, looking suitably unimpressed. “How long are you all going to stand there like a bunch of a morons before you come in?” He asked, fingers dancing along the spine of the creature in his lap.

Natasha was the first one in and she stopped in front of Tony. There was a silent moment where they stared at each other before Tony nodded, once, sharply, and then Natasha reached out and ran a delicate hand between the creature’s ears. Said creature seemed to awaken at the new touch, ice blue eyes staring at the agent before closing again.

Apparently not the only one wondering what that had been about, but seeing it was not their place to ask, the others filed in and appropriated beverages for themselves and the original occupants of the room shuffled about to make room for them. Once everyone was settled, Steve looked around and then something became glaringly obvious to even him.

Every single person in the room was hovering around Tony, like he was a linchpin and they would all scatter to the wind if he disappeared. Even just the three on the island with the genius were proof of this. The man was holding Tony, one arm gently wrapped around the inventor’s stomach while Pepper and the red-headed woman sat like sentinels next to them, every line of their bodies screaming protectiveness. Others in the room were constantly looking over that way, as if to make sure that he was still there. Steve knew that the images of IronMan flying the nuke into space had somehow made their way onto the internet and the news and it was obvious these were friends of Tony’s and that they were all close with each other. It must have been terrifying for them to see those images.

Steve was pulled out of his reverie when Pepper whistled sharply and the room fell silent, everyone turning to stare at her. “Time to talk business, children. Pay attention.” There was some playful whining from the group as they turned to the island to hear what she had to say.

“Tomorrow begins the official cleanup of Manhattan and you guys and everyone who comes on the second plane will be under StarkIndustries’ “employment and protection” while you’re here. Today, we’re having tags made up that I expect you all to wear while you’re out and working incase there’s an accident. I don’t care if you’re doing first aid, feeding people or part of the cleanup crew. We’ve got you three to a room on the residence floors once everyone shows up and, I know it’s a little crowded, but it’s the best we could do on such short notice until the damages are repaired.”

There was some soft murmuring from the group, the general consensus of that they didn’t mind and then Pepper was speaking again. “The pool is on basement four, the ballroom and shooting gallery are on basement three and the gyms on the basement levels above those. The cards I gave you when you arrived this morning will allow you onto those levels only. Each residence floor has a kitchen with the basics so feel free to add your own items as you see fit. And I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks after the Battle for Manhattan, Nick Fury was sitting in his office, looking at the displays around him. Only a few days ago they’d been covered with news clippings and broadcasts and internet entries asking if the Avengers were a good thing or not. Now they were covered with footage from news interviews, internet postings and a single news clipping, all of Tony Stark and IronMan.

He’d been worried that the public would turn on the men and woman who’d saved their lives, but now the public seemed to be supporting them instead. And it was mainly because of Tony Stark. Romanov and Barton had taken a vacation, Rogers was out touring the country, Banner was back in India wrapping up his affairs and Thor was back on Asgard, leaving only IronMan as an Avenger on cleanup duty.

Fury had to give it to the genius. StarkIndustries had made an impressive volunteer staff showing, with ten medics to help with the Red Cross, multiple chefs to feed the work crews and a staggering number of cleanup crew members. IronMan was seen almost constantly, lifting heavy chunks of debris and alien bodies and, when all those were gone, Tony himself made daily appearances as a member of clean up crews, dressed for work and going for hours on end with the rest of them. On the monitor was proof of that. 

A picture of IronMan, normally shiny paint job smudged with ash and goo, supporting a kitten in the palm of his hands and gently handing it off to a Red Cross veterinarian.

Video footage, probably shot from a parent or sibling’s phone, of Tony and a few other Stark volunteers acting out a silly play for injured children, their laughter clear and bright as Tony playfully over-acted his death as a terrible monster at the hands of the valiant prince.

Tony, standing in a food service line, hair-net and apron adorned, dishing out food to the hungry workers, smiling and joking with them as they filed through.

The last, Fury’s secret favorite, was a color picture from a newspaper headline. Two dozen men and women, streaked with mud, soaking wet and standing in the rain, all smiling brightly, the caption beneath declaring _“A work team playing a game of football instigated by none other than Tony Stark after a hard day’s work.”_ It had taken Fury a minute to find Stark among the filthy group, but he had been at the end of the row, face obscured by a splatter of mud, teeth brilliant white against the mess on his face.

The public was loving Tony Stark. His dedication to restoring the city, his drive to get his hands dirty with the rest of the workers. He was their man, their poster boy in the aftermath of the invasion. And Tony was taking it with calm aplomb that was thought unknown to the man before. Maybe Stark was a better fit for the team of superheroes than originally thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After the first two months a majority of the Order members who’d shown up to help with the cleanup went home. Those who were trained in construction, architecture, engineering or any of the other professions that would be needed to rebuild, stayed around.

And slowly, the Avengers started to show back up at the Tower. Tony had made sure to let them know about the “open door” policy before they left. The first back was Bruce, carrying one lone bag and looking sheepish. Tony grinned brightly and invited him in with his usual enthusiasm. Bruce ended up on the floor below Tony’s.

Next came Thor, a little less vibrant than he’d been before, but happy to be reunited with “Friend Tony!” nonetheless. With him came his girlfriend, Jane, and her assistant, Darcy. Tony learned quickly that, while Darcy didn’t look like it, she was dangerous. 

Next came Clint and Natasha. They went on the floors below Bruce, but above an empty floor and Thor. Lastly came Steve, who looked even more sheepish than Bruce had. Tony, though he was still harboring a dislike for the Captain after never having resolved the conflict between them on the Helicarrier, had set him up on the floor above Thor but below the assassins.

Slowly, but surely, they began to learn to coexist. Thor ate a ton of poptarts by himself and, the nights he did cook it was mostly bread meat with cheese. Tony’s kind of meal really, but he didn’t want to be roasting an entire pig in his communal kitchen every other day.

Natasha drank almost as much coffee as he did, but Clint and Bruce both preferred tea, and had a special liking for the Catmint-chamomile blend Tony kept around for nights he couldn’t sleep, even after long stints in the workshop.

Though Steve and Tony couldn’t stand each other, in the field, IronMan and Captain America got along swimmingly. The public still adored Tony for his efforts with the cleanup, but were wary at best of the others, especially considering they’d left after the invasion. There weren’t a lot of fights right away between the Avengers and the bad guys and for that, they were grateful.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve and Tony’s last fight was also their worst. Tony couldn’t remember what had started it, but it had ended with Tony taking a wooden practice bar in the chest on accident and Steve with some rather impressive, while they were there, bruises. Clint held him while Thor held Steve and Clint let out a shocked _“Fuck Stark, you’re stronger than you look!”_ when Tony twisted in his grasp, an actual snarl bubbling in his throat.

Tony tried twisting out again, but Clint held on like a boa constrictor and finally he fell limp, but the rage was still boiling close to the surface, and Clint didn’t dare to let the genius go until Steve had been pulled from the room.

“What’s going on here?” A voice said from the door and Clint looked over to the door where Natasha was standing with Brad, who looked fresh off a short-shift, still wearing blue scrubs. He breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what mood the genius seemed to be in, Brad and Anatassia always seemed to be able to pull him out of it. Or distract him.

“Stark and Rogers went at it again. I’m almost afraid to let him go, in case he goes flying after Rogers.” Clint said, and he was only joking a little. He could feel the bunched muscles in Tony, rage keeping him tense. Brad made a noise in his chest, shucked his shirt and then went over to the supply cabinets along one of the walls. Clint was surprised by what he pulled out.

A wooden shield, similar to the ones he’d seen in movies about ancient Greece and Rome, long and narrow, almost completely designed to cover a body protectively. He walked over to where the wooden practice bar had fallen and used one foot to kick it up in the air. Clint released Tony and watched the inventor catch it out of the air and swing immediately for the shield.

Brad didn’t give an inch and instead pushed back, taunting Tony and then Clint realized what he was seeing. Brad was doing this both let Tony vent and tire him out. In its own way, it was like what Clint did when he spent hours at the range, shooting arrows until his fingers stung and his arm was stiff. Natasha had left the room already, leaving Clint the only Avenger left, so he went and sat in corner, watching the fight.

Neither man gave any quarter and both seemed very strong. Brad taunted Tony mercilessly, and Tony, too angry to realize none of the barbs had too much sting, put his all into trying to knock Brad down with the polearm. The moves looked eerily familiar and Clint felt a small part of his brain screaming at him to run, but he chalked it up to his subconscious remembering a previous assignment. He’d fought some strange people before.

They fought for almost an hour and Clint would be unashamed to admit that he was impressed by Tony’s stamina. For all the crap people gave him for being unfit, it was all obviously a lie.

When it ended, it ended in spectacular fashion. Tony was tired, it was obvious, and his chest was troubling him where he’d been hit earlier. The man readjusted the grip he had on the polearm, rearranged his feet and struck. One sweep had the shield out of Brad’s hands, a jab to the stomach had him staggering and a final sweep to his knees had him on his back and Tony was over him in a second, the end of the polearm at Brad’s throat, a raspy growl leaking from between clenched teeth.

Clint felt a jolt when he saw the move, but couldn’t quite remember why. Ignoring the feeling lurking at the back of his mind, he rose to his feet and watched. Tony had helped Brad back up and was now peeling off the sweat-slicked shirt off of his back, revealing a mottled black and blue bruise forming on his right side.

Realizing he wasn’t needed anymore, Clint left the room, a thought niggling at the back of his mind. It wouldn’t be until later that night, when he was in bed, that he remembered where he’d seen those moves before. He shot up, sheets pooling about his waist, a cold sweat broken out across his skin and he hissed the horrifying answer aloud to himself.

_“The Fox.”_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony knew right away when Clint connected Tony with his other identity. It was kind of hard not to. Clint began avoiding him constantly. He would flinch at the slightest move, if Tony reached for even a harmless household object, he would tense, as if to run away. And if Tony surprised him by accident? He was up in a vent and gone before Tony could even get a word out.

As a member of SHIELD, Clint was bound to silence, and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about Tony’s past activities, but if he kept up like he was, the rest of team were bound to figure out something was wrong between the two and start asking pointed questions.

Tony only gave Clint a few days to get a hold of himself and, when he didn’t devised a simple plan. He got his mask case out of the room where he kept all of his old things, the oak wood polished to a shine, and brought it down with him to lab. After working a few hours on the design for Clint’s new arrows, he had Jarvis call the archer down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Jarvis called for Clint to go down to labs, the man felt as if ice water had been poured down his veins. Objectively, he knew Tony wouldn’t hurt him, or any of them for that matter, but he still felt a nagging fear as he rode the elevator down to the level where Tony and Bruce had their labs.

Jarvis opened the doors for him and he walked a few paces in before stopping. “What’s up?” He asked, trying to be casual and only partially succeeding. Tony swiveled in his chair and made a motion with his hand. 

“Jarvis.” He said, voice smooth and quiet and the glass doors went dark and there was click. Clint jumped. Tony had locked the door. 

“We need to talk.” Was all the inventor said before he rose to his feet. He grabbed a case off the desk next to him and came to stand in the large open area. Clint approached cautiously and watched as Tony opened the case. And Clint gasped.

Most people see the masks of assassins from the Raan Do Sivaas from far away, or at least a little more than arm’s length away. But up close, the craftsmanship was visible and astounding. It’s clear what animal the mask is portraying, the features done in brilliant crimson against an ebony backdrop. Scratches adorn the mask, like scars, indicating a long time of use.

Clint reaches out and runs a finger down the muzzle of the mask and the material he comes into contact with is cool like metal, but without the abrasiveness. He looks up at Tony, who’s staring back at him blankly.

“Do you know why my mask is in this case, Clint?” He asked and the archer is struck by how calm, how put-together Tony’s voice actually is. There’s a hint of something there, almost an accent, an amalgamation of an imprint, left by all the languages Tony’s learned, and Clint shivers with it. He shakes his head.

“I’m retired, Clint. The Fox hasn’t taken an assignment in over seven years, and he will probably never take another. I don’t want to hurt people anymore Clint. I’m done with it. So this flinching, acting like the next thing I’m going to do is stab you with a spoon? It has to stop.” Tony’s voice is firm and Clint finds himself nodding.

Tony was no different from himself. An agent, a weapon of the highest order, once used for nothing but bloodshed, now out there saving lives instead of ending them. He gets it, he really does. So he nods his understanding and Tony closes the case softly, almost reverently, and Clint realizes that this part of Tony, this bit of him that so very few people know exist, is actually one of the most major parts about him.

He and Tony share an intense look, one of understanding, and Clint nods one final time before he leaves the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony and Steve still aren’t talking to each other a week after their fight when they called out to stop someone Thor refers to as Amora. They don’t make a dismal showing, but it’s still one of their worst to date. And shortly before the woman leaves, there’s a puff of green and gold dust, and then everything goes black.

Tony woke up a few minutes later and noticed something off right away. He could hear on both sides. And half the world wasn’t colorless anymore. He sat up swiftly and looked at his hands. And they’re larger and lighter-skinned than he’s used to. But what clued him in to the fact that they’re screwed is that right across from him, his body is staring back at him in abject horror.

“What in the actual _fuck!_ ” He screeched and he’s horrified when he recognizes Clint’s voice. Everyone was awake then, staring at each other in a mixture of horror and morbid fascination. And then a thought struck him. “Bruce. Shit if we changed bodies.....” The others didn’t need to be told. Hulk. But just before he could start panicking fully, Bruce spoke.

“I’m still in my body. I think the Other Guy stopped the spell from working.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and Bruce didn’t even blame them. Only his body can handle a transformation and only he knows how to keep calm enough to stop one. The Other Guy in someone else’s body or someone else in his body is a recipe for disaster.

Before they could discuss it further though, the silence was broken by what sounded like hyperventilating and Tony looked over at his body. He was standing up, panic written across his face and clawing at his chest. The armor had been released by Jarvis and now whoever was in his body had his shirt off. Tony and the others realize a moment too late what’s about to happen and then, the Arc Reactor’s out.

There’s a chorus of curses and Tony, in Clint’s body and Thor, who must be occupied by Natasha because she’s the only other person on the team who realizes the true importance of the reactor, are on their feet. Natasha pinned his body down and Tony grabbed the reactor from his hand, pushing the shirt back up and reconnecting the wires before pushing it back in. There was a pained sound from his body and Tony knew the autoinjector on his wrist had just dumped a ton of Adenosine into his blood to counteract the removal.

“Fuck you whichever jackass is in there! Are you trying to kill me?” He hissed and was surprised how easily the rage came across in Clint’s voice compared to his own. He sat back heavily, wringing his-no, Clint’s, hands together as he watched his body suck in air. SHIELD was on the way, he could hear the commander’s voice in his ear, telling them to sit tight.

And then Coulson was there.

The others exclaimed loudly, and it was a horrible cacophony of sound and Tony just sat there, watching them. He’d found Coulson, ghost in the system though the man had been, just yesterday. He’d meant to tell the group, but by the time he arrived back from his...meeting with the director, they’d been called out. 

Coulson had survived the fight with Loki and had been recovering in a private hospital. Only recently had he been cleared for duty and Fury was going to announce his “magical return” the following day. But Tony, in the midst of one of his usual hacks of SHIELD (checking for security breaches he told the IT department) had found the files and, as soon as the sun was up, had stormed the office building where SHIELD had set up in New York.

He and the director had words. Loudly, and with great anger and enthusiasm. And, when he had said his peace and demanded Coulson’s return immediately, he left, though he was aware that Hill and the junior agents were looking at him with a new respect as he left.

Now Coulson was striding over to where Tony-in-Clint’s body was sitting and stared at him with that blank look that he’d perfected. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I Stark? Threatening the director in his own office?” Tony shrugged Clint’s shoulders, and god wasn’t that weird, and smiled, a vicious, lopsided look that exposed teeth.

“Guess not, Agent. But he had it coming and you know it.” He said and Coulson shook his head. Natasha-in-Thor’s body made a questioning noise and, after a moment of looking surprised by actually making a sound, she spoke and, though it lacked the usual boom of Thor’s voice, it was still louder than her own.

“Stark threatened the director?” She asked and Tony smiled as Coulson nodded almost resignedly. 

“I believe his exact words were; _“If you ever, and I mean EVER, mess with my people like that again, I will eviscerate you with my bare hands and string your entrails from here to Grand Central Station and then laugh while the tunnel rats eat your maggot-encrusted corpse!”_.” The man said with little expression and Tony could feel his face flush a little and, oh look, Clint still had the ability to blush.

All eyes were on him now and he shrugged his shoulders. “I was mad.” He defended himself weakly. Coulson snorted indelicately and whapped him on the back of the head and Tony squawked indignantly at it. Coulson shepherded them all onto a transport to Medical and on the way there tried to figure out who was in whose body.

Tony was occupying Clint’s body, while Clint was occupying Steve’s who was occupying Tony’s body. Thor was occupying Natasha and vice-versa and, once all that was figured out, Tony ordered one of the agents to call Doctor Brad Eckley at Manhattan General. Brad, as a cardiologist and someone Tony trusted with his life, was the only other person who knew the ins-and-outs of the Arc Reactor and its effects on Tony’s body. He’d have to be on hand until this whole switcheroo blew over, in case Steve accidentally did something to the Reactor again.

After being cleared at Medical as “just fine, except for the whole body-switch thing”, Fury benched the whole team and then they were confined to the Tower. Happy drove them all home and once inside, they were met immediately by Brad and Anatassia, along with another man, tall with black hair done in the high and tight fashion with emerald green eyes wearing dress blues.

Tony recognized Robert right away and, before he could stop himself and explain the situation to the other man, Robert had Steve in a hug. Steve squeaked and tried to kick out of the hug and Robert looked hurt before Tony stepped forward. “Don’t feel bad, Rob. That’s actually not me you’re hugging.” He said and Robert gave him such a look of utter confusion that Tony, Brad and Anatassia burst out into laughter. 

“You didn’t explain to him what happened?” He asked and Brad shook his head, body wracked with laughter. Tony placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder and explained the situation breifly and Robert, who’d been taught how to “Make Do” since he was three, simply nodded. “All right then.” He said, nodding his head. 

“Well, I’ve got good news for you. I’m home for six months!” Tony made a sound and jumped at Robert, wrapping him in a hug. “I have to admit that its weird hugging you while at the same time not hugging you.” He said, and Tony moved his arms off. In the background, Clint was muttering something and Tony flipped him the bird behind his back. Time for the business at hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It took a week for the spell to wear off. Tony was back in his own body with a flash, this time without passing out. Happy to be back, he rolled his shoulders and leaned down to scoop up Inari. Inari and Clint had always gotten along so Clint, a few days earlier while still occupying his body, had gone to “shake hands” with the fox and, unaware of his super-soldier strength, broke Inari’s front leg.

Although, Inari could limp around the house, Tony had taken to carrying him around in a larger version of the kit-sling again. Now he meandered up to the entertainment room where the others were rejoicing in being back in their own bodies. Anatassia and Robert hugged him quickly, Robert muttering about “right one this damn time” into his hair and then Tony found himself face to face with Steve, back in his own body. Inari glared at Steve warily, recognizing the man that had hurt him, even on accident and even though it hadn’t actually been Steve. Before Tony could say anything, Steve was speaking.

“I’m sorry!” He rushed out. Tony blinked. He’d made a few overtures of apology towards Steve before, and had even offered to teach him to dance, but the former had been turned down and the latter had been seen as a particularly vicious jab by everyone else on the team, who seemed to believe Tony couldn’t dance and had been mocking the man.

Now Tony blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?” He asked and Steve blushed.

“For what I said before. All the times we fought. I don’t know how you’ve done it. How can you breath with that thing in your chest? Helping the company? Designing for SHIELD and fighting villains? It’s little wonder you don’t eat or sleep normally. And that suit! How many pounds does that thing weigh?” Tony was stunned into a momentary silence and then smiled softly, an odd look on his face. He held out his hand.

“I’m Tony Stark. Nice to meet you.” He said and, Steve realizing what it was, held out his own hand and shook with Tony.

“I’m Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Tony.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony takes his title of philanthropist very seriously, this no-one can deny. Although the Maria Stark Foundation funds several different charities, Tony’s personal contributions oftentimes go towards groups that helped children in cities around the united states who wanted to play an instrument, sing or dance. He knew the arts held great importance for a child’s development.

Another charity he funded and had helped found was a ranch, just outside of the city where, during the school year, kids lived and worked on the ranch, learning how to ride horses, care for them and even compete. Tony had donated all of Achilles’, who’d passed away the year before, offspring to the ranch and often traveled out to the ranch on weekends to help with the lessons.

Most of the charities he funded in the city he visited often, like the chior program that operated out of a church on Brooklyn, or the band and orchestra group that played out of a school in Manhattan.

But his favorite is a weekly dance class he holds in the ballroom on one of the basement levels of the tower. Three times a week, a group of kids and teachers use the ballroom to practice dancing, both traditional and nontraditional types. Tony made sure to visit at least once a week, and sometimes he danced with the students and other times he simply sat there and offered advice and encouragement. While he often danced alone, or with Pepper or Anatassia, both of whom were excellent dancers, the students, most of whom were high school, were blank slates, who hadn’t picked a style yet.

Which is why, on a stormy Friday in September, Pepper, Anatassia and he were sitting in the livingroom with the rest of the team, who were engrossed in a Mario Kart battle between Clint, Thor, Brad and Natasha. Pepper and Anatassia were dressed in black tanktops and pants and Tony was dressed in a tight black t-shirt with similar pants. All three were barefoot. Today, the teachers were doing an exhibition class for all of the new students and to entertain the returning ones.

_“Sir, your class has arrived.”_ Jarvis’s voice filtered in and all three were off the couch and stretching.

“Alright kids, play nice while we’re away. Don’t blow anything up and try to keep each other alive. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Pepper said and then they were gone, in the elevator and down. There was a quiet moment after the game was paused. 

“Class?” Steve asked and Brad grunted.

“He didn’t tell you?” He asked and received a negative answer. “Figures. Tony sponsors a program for dancers who don’t have another place to practice. He helps teach the class at least once a week, if not more. The kids think he’s great.” Sensing a disbelieving silence in response to his answer he sighed, annoyance clear in his voice. “You don’t believe me? Fine. Jarvis, bring up the feed from the ballroom.”

There was a beep and then the video game was replaced with the image of the massive ballroom. There were nearly three dozen kids, all sitting against one of the long walls, while Tony, Pepper, Anatassia and three other adults stood in the middle of the floor, talking with each other.

The introduction was made by one of the other instructors, and when he was done, everyone but Pepper and Tony took seats with the kids. Tony and Pepper stepped towards each other, beaming a discussing something lowly before they approached the rest of the way, Tony’s hand on her hip, the other held out and Pepper put her own hands where they belonged.

_“Jarvis, play “3055” by Olafur Arnalds, please.”_ There wasn’t a response but, after a short moment, soft strains of music filled the room and the team watched with surprise as the pair slowly moved across the floor. Their feet were sure and steady, and then the song picked up its pace and they were flying across the floor, smiling and twirling. And when the song ended, they drifted apart and bowed to the clapping students.

And the team felt something sink inside them. Only months before Tony had offered to teach Steve basic dances and they’d shouted him down, accusing him of making fun of the super-soldier, without giving him time to explain or elaborate. And here the same man was, dancing like he’d been doing it all his life and like he’d could be professional at it. They watched for a while as all the instructors danced. There were pair dances, group dances and even a few dances with some of the older students.

When the class was beginning to wind down, the team as a whole made a conscious decision to follow Brad down, as the man had left almost an hour before. When they got down to the basement level jarvis let them in and they tucked themselves into a corner. They were just in time to here one of the instructors tell the students they had could ask questions. One student, tall with short hair, rose his hand and the instructor pointed to him. He rose to his feet.

“I have a question for Tony.” He said and Tony stood up.

“I might have an answer. Let’s hear it.” Another boy stood up next to him and they shared a look before nodding.

“Sectional, Regional and National dancing competitions are allowing same-sex duos to compete this year in their Contemporary Categories, so long as the content can be described as “sensual” and not “sexual”. It’s really such a fine line, do you have any examples that fit this criteria?”

Tony seemed to mull over the answer for a bit. “I do, actually. Who here remembers Brad Eckley? He helps with the class sometimes?” Most of the hands went up and the team watched as Brad smiled softly.

“Well, a few months ago, we did something for a charity, where we created a dance. Perhaps if you were all able to convince Brad to come down here and help me out....” There’s cheering and shouts of Brad’s name and the man himself comes from a round the crowd, already barefoot and smiling.

“Oh, if I must!” He exclaims dramatically and it pulls more cheers and some laughter from the students. Brad and Tony lean close together and seem to talk about something for a moment before brad moves down to the far end of the room and Tony takes up at the center of the ballroom floor.

“Jarvis, light setting 33B.” He orders. The team and students watch in awe as the room descends into dark blues, interspaced equally with lighter blues and black, like it’s raining. “Jarvis, _“Rain”_ , by Blackmill.” He orders. There’s beat and Tony’s moving.

He’s slow and measured as he goes and as the beat picks up, if only minutely, Brad enters from the side and they glance at each other, moving forward until they’re face to face to face, Tony’s hand on Brad’s shoulder and Brad’s on Tony’s cheek. And then they’re apart, moving in counterpoint and everyone is enraptured.

Brad and Tony have lost track of everyone else, with eyes only for each other, and soon they’re close again, like an embrace. Their every move screams seduction and several people in the room find their breath stolen from them at the intensity in the dancing pair’s eyes.

As the song ends, they embrace, chests heaving, their breath almost in time with the beat. Tony’s eyes are closed and his head tossed back to expose the long column of his neck. Brad’s hand at his throat, face resting just above the reactor, eyes smoldering.

There’s silence in the room until they break apart and then thundering applause fills the space, sounding like there’s a thousand times more people than just the small group of students, instructors and friends. Brad and Tony bow, high-five each other, smiling all the while as they try to catch their breaths.


	10. Jas sum samo eden kral , soboren od prestolot

Rhodey shows up months after the dancing lesson the team had walked in on. Everyone save Pepper and Tony, who are down in the lab discussing some plan or another, are sitting in the media room, arguing over whether or not they were going to play games or watch a movie. Natasha takes one look at him, the drawn face and fresh pressed military dress uniform, and her brow furrows only slightly, but Clint knows her well enough to know she’s worried.

“Congress?” She asks him, like that single word holds all the problems for the inventor downstairs. Rhodey’s face draws and he shakes his head sharply and she dare not ask because if it’s not congress, then the envelope clutched in his hands can only mean one thing. He pads into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a steaming mug before he enters the elevator, leaving the rest of the team alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhodey could hear Tony’s voice from the elevator, as well as Pepper’s, both interspersed with whirring and chirping from Dummy, You and Butterfingers. All five of them, humans and bots alike, were bent over the table, where a flat hologram depicting something or the other lights up the otherwise dark room with a light blue glow.

Rhodey tabbed in his entrance codes and he watched Tony’s head come up, followed quickly by the bots, a smile splitting his face. “Platypus!” He crowed gleefully, echoed by the whirring of his bots and Pepper’s more sedate “James” before the inventor was across the room and hugging him. 

Rhodey returned the embrace loosely, but his heart wasn’t in it, and that was obvious to the more observant of the pair. “Is something wrong, James?” Pepper asked and Tony pulled back to look at his friend more closely, face furrowing.

“Rhodey?” He asked, voice seeking and Rhodes handed him the envelope after carefully removing his hands from his shoulders. Tony looked at the crest in the top right corner and bit his lip, tightly, using his fingernail to open the top of it.

The paper that he grabbed out was made of thick stock, rough against the callouses of his hands and he unfolded it, taking a deep breath when he read the first line out loud.

_“Dear Mr. Stark,_

_We regret to inform you that Marine Corps. Captain Robert Z. Fick has been killed in action overseas-”_

Was as far as he got before he dropped the letter, the words sticking in his throat, hands shaking. In the background he could hear Pepper’s worried voice, the chirping of his bots, but his brain was frozen, unable to move past the print of the letter. Robert was dead.

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and a broken keening sound stuck in his throat, eyes filling against his will. He tried to tamp down on his emotions, face going slack as warm hands steered him towards something soft, something that took him a moment to recognize as the couch that occupied the far side of his lab.

_“Tony? Tony can you squeeze my hand?”_ A soft voice said in his ear, one he briefly recognized as Pepper’s. Why did she sound so panicked? He was right here. Belatedly he squeezed the fingers that rested in his palm, though the action was weak as a kitten’s batting paws.

Tony zoned for a while, unsure whether he was there or not, floating in a haze of disbelief and grief, not unlike when his parent’s had died. His fingers reflexively tightened for a moment and Tony realized his body was subconsciously holding a glass of scotch that wasn’t actually there. Gentle hands grabbed his hand and massaged the fingers until they relaxed.

Tony came back to himself awhile later, and he’s distressed to find himself still shivering and breathing slightly irregularly. There’s something heavy and warm draped about his shoulders and he’s sitting on something soft. There are two heavy sources of heat on either of his sides and he noticed that someone was speaking in his ear, voice soft and soothing. 

He blinked again, looking to his left and coming face to face with a teary-eyed Anatassia and he’d gotten one arm wrapped around her waist unthinkingly. On her other side is a similarly distressed looking Brad, who’s got on arm around Anatassia, the other in her lap, fingers twined with Tony’s own.

They’re both dressed in soft, well-worn looking pajama bottoms and tops, but Tony can see scrubs and lab coats and sneakers strewn on the floor around the bed, indicating that they’d rushed to the tower from the shift they’d been working when the news was delivered. 

A moment later, Tony recognized the person at his back to be Pepper and she was speaking consolingly to all three, trying her damnedest to keep them all grounded. Rhodey entered a few minutes later and he was carrying a small tray of steaming mugs. It wasn’t coffee and, through the congestion of tears, Tony managed to make out the scent of Catmint and Clarysage, Atlas Cedar and Gold Poppy.

Rhodey carefully presses a mug into each of the three mourner’s hands, stopping to make sure their fingers had grasped the mugs tightly before moving onto the next. Tony doesn’t remember much of what happens after that. He got brief flashes; Pepper and Rhodey fussing over them, Jarvis’s voice indicating Alexander and Ray, Brad’s mentor, have arrived, calls from Fury turned away with excuses Pepper makes up on the fly, but the rest is silent nothingness.

The three of them hardly ever leave the bed. Bathroom breaks, chances to stretch lest they get sore from laying still for too long, but the rest of it is just them, laying in bed, surrounding each other for comfort. Until the second day, when their aged mentors pull them out of bed and herd them into showers and clean clothes, and then actual food is pressed into their hands. Pepper helps Tony pack while Alexander and Ray drive Brad and Anatassia home to do the same. She tells him gently that the military service will be at Arlington and then hands him a note, written by Alexander no doubt, to explain that the members of the Raan Do Sivaas will be boarding a plane afterwards to Canada that Pepper had volunteered for them.

Tony’s still a little dazed as Pepper hands him two suit bags and a duffel bag, and, for a moment he’s confused before he remembers that one is a normal suit he’ll wear to the public service and the other is a gray linen outfit and his gray mourning mask, the one he’ll wear at the private service.

She tells him that the Avengers left the tower a day ago, under Fury’s instruction for a mission and that she’ll take care of everything Stark industries related while he’s gone. She kisses his cheek, bundles him carefully into the back of the waiting limo, and watches as Happy drives him off to the airport.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Its rainy and dreary the day of the ceremony at Arlington, but it stops no-one from showing up. At the front are Robert’s classmates and their mentors, along with Marcie herself who, though beginning to gray and face lined with the grief that suffuses everyone, still looks formidable. Behind them are marines from Robert’s company, even his CO, Major Reckford, and, to Tony’s surprise, Robert’s parents, who had supported his path as an assassin, but not as a marine.

The service is peaceful and respectful and it’s obvious by the reverence with which Robert’s casket is treated that he was well-loved by all in attendance. Tony is greatly surprised with the solemn-faced Honor Guard leader kneels in front of him with the folded flag, Robert’s dogtags resting gently on top. _“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.”_ The man’s voice is quiet and respectful and Tony takes the flag with shaking hands, quietly thanking the man as he rose and stepped away.

Everyone stood as Taps began to play, muffled against the rain that beat against the ground and, for the first time since his parent’s died, Tony cried as the casket was lowered, thankful that the rain covered the muffled sound of his sobs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The den is cold and silent when they arrive. The smooth stone halls, usually lit by lightbulbs, are instead illuminated by oil lamps. Novices and assassins alike more silently, garbed in the gray linen mourning clothes and, in a show of unity, masks, if they have them, hang about their necks from leather thongs instead of their usual spots on faces.

The party that had attended the funeral at Arlington were given leave to go to their rooms and, for once, Tony was glad he’d gotten his own room when he’d been masked. The room is just how he left it and there’s a low fire burning in the hearth, but the candles on his table aren’t lit. He stowed what he wouldn’t need and then peeled himself out of his suit, which he hung up on the empty weapon rack. He scrubbed his face at the bowl and then slipped into his own linen outfit.

There’s almost no difference from the black and red one he’d worn years before, save for the color and the two, lone stripes down the legs, one black, one red. He hangs the mask about his neck and stays barefoot. He made to sit when there was a hesitant knock on his door.

“Enter.” He said gruffly. The door gently swings open and a younger looking man enters. His pants don’t bear a stripe, which indicates he’s a novice, but he’s cradling something with near-reverence in his hands. 

“I’m supposed to give you this, Sunvaar Fox.” The novice said and gently handed it to him. Tony’s fingers tightened around the stave that was laid in his hand. The novice said nothing as Tony’s stared at the stave, leaving the room and closing the door behind him as he went.

The Watcher’s Stave.

Tony recognized the stave, as he’d personally crafted this one not ten years ago, when the previous stave had reached its century mark. 

It’s crafted of solid oak wood, stained a deep Saffron. Lain closely in meticulously carved grooves in the wood are oak strips died bombay, color blatant against the rest of the stave. The top had a spike made of carved antler, sharpened to a point and in the center where his hand would rest was tied with tattered silk of pure white. Wreathed about the entirety of the stave are ancient runes, from where they come from, no one knows.

It’s the Watcher’s solemn duty to preside carefully over the five day mourning period, in which the den will come to a standstill, save for the barest necessary work, such as feeding the horses, oxen and dogs. For the next five days, Tony, as Watcher would have the responsibility of guarding the stone tablet where the memorial would sit and making sure the Remembrance Fire never went out.

His grip tightened on the stave and he breathed out once shakily. “You would choose me, wouldn’t you?” He whispered softly. There are ceremonies for maskings and unmaskings, births and deaths, banishments and inclusion and as novices they learned them all, incase they were ever called upon to perform those duties.

He rested the stave carefully against the wall and grabbed the dog-tags resting carefully on top of the flag-case one of the marines had crafted by hand a while ago. Carefully he wrapped the chain around his right wrist until they sat on the underside of his wrist, grabbed the stave and made his way outside through the main entrance.

Most members don’t even know the small path he takes exists until they must attend a funeral, but now, the once smooth earth, warm and dry underfoot despite the hovering clouds, is imprinted with dozens and dozens of others people’s bare foot prints. At the pinnacle of the path is a massive flat surface, having been carved into the earth over time and there are rows of wooden logs, all filled with members and other staff, all dressed for mourning. As he walks down the aisle that cuts them in half, row by row they stand, following him with only their heads until he’s standing in front of a stone tablet.

Like the runes, no one knows where the tablet comes from, only that offerings and an effigy are placed upon it on a daily basis and, when the sun goes down, the offerings are placed at the base of the Remembrance Fire, where they burn to ashes. The pit for the fire, with logs all leaned up against each other and more nearby, is next to mountain face, behind the tablet.

Tony drops to his knees, puts his hands down with the stave carefully atop them and bows his head until it rests against the base of the tablet. “For the Spirits.” He says, clearly and with the barest trace gruff and accent, brought on by his crying earlier, and he’s echoed by the mass behind him.

He’s rises to his feet and Marcie, who’d stepped away from the front row, hands him a large wooden lion, hand-carved he can tell, which he takes with a bow. The stave goes spike first into the ground and he holds the lion above his head. “For my fallen brother.” He says and is echoed again as he places the lion in the middle of the stone tablet.

He lifts the stave and flips it back spike-side up and is handed a wooden bowl, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, but steep enough to hold a good amount of liquid. He takes a sip; its good summerwine, sweet with an abundance of berries and honey and then, with a flick of his hand, the rest of the wine scatters across the tablet and onto the pit behind it. “For the Gods.” He declares, and the bowl goes in front of the lion while he’s repeated.

The last thing he’s handed is a burning branch, which he grabs and walks around to the pit. The wood is resin-drenched and lights with ease when Tony tosses the branch into the pit with a final declaration. 

“Ashes to ashes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the night of the fifth day, Tony doesn’t feed the fire after his classmates, now only seven in number, join him and watch as, finally in the gray light of dawn on the sixth morning, the flame dies. He was tired and sore from standing still and sleeping only in thirty minute snatches. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed with Inari, who was back at the tower, and sleep for sixteen hours and then eat his first warm meal in nearly a week. Or coffee, lots and lots of coffee would also suffice. Their plane back to Manhattan didn’t leave until six the following evening, so Tony had time.

Slipping inside the den, he’s met with noise and actual light and he smiles as they move down the center opening in the anteroom, which led down the great hall. The tables are full and Tony’s stomach growls at the smell of eggs, back bacon and strong coffee. They wait in turn in the line leading up the serving windows and their plates are piled full. Tony and Brad grab coffee while Anatassia grabs a glass of milk and they squeeze into a table of other assassins.

An hour later they’re still there, sipping their drinks and talking lowly when Marcie herself comes up, smiling at them gently. In her hand are three envelopes, one of which goes in each person’s hands. “He wanted you to read those together. The room is empty and the chefs have left. Go ahead.” Was all she said before she too turned on her heel and left them. Nerves creeping up on them, Tony got up and refilled everyone’s cups, bring the pot of coffee and a cup for Anatassia over as well.

Anatassia started by opening her envelope, a light blue number with her name scrawled across it in familiar handwriting. She unfolds the paper inside, takes a deep breath and reads it aloud. _“Dear ‘Tassa, if you’re reading this, then I died. I wrote these letters on December the ninth, five days before my deployment in 2012. If I am dead, then that sucks and I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my fault.”_ She chokes a little, but breathes deeply and begins again.

_“I remember when we first met, and Tony said something stupid to you and you kicked him in the shin and started cursing him out in an accent so thick, none of us could understand. I also remember how, later that day, we went to the park, and you met a little boy named Johan and you thought he was the coolest person ever. You two became fast friends and you even went to medical school together. (Brad told me everything, don’t deny it.) You two have been dating for five years now and you’re both so stupidly in love with each other that you’re afraid to make the next big step and get married. Well, now’s the time. I wrote a letter for him as well and it’ll be delivered to him after the will is read.”_

The rest she reads silently to herself and the two other men watched as her eyes flooded over and she stood quickly. They paused to squeeze her hand on the way out, but soon she was gone, out the door and probably away to her room. Tony looked down at his letter and then up at Brad, who was staring back at him with just as much consternation before they nodded to each other and slit the top of the letters. By silent agreement they flip open the pages and begin reading silently at the same time.

_“Dear Tony, if you’re reading this, then I’ve died. I wrote this letter the same day I wrote Brad and ‘Tassa’s. If you’re reading this second, then ‘Tassa’s probably already gone and you’re alone in the room with Brad. This is good. We’ve known eachother since we were four, Tony. I know your tics and how you react to certain things. I think you’ll remember a time, all those years ago when we were practicing free-running, and you slammed into a wall. Yes, I remember that. You tried to tell me you got distracted, but I knew the real reason. I let it slide, figured you figure it out yourself and either get over it if it was just a crush or admit your feelings to Brad._

_“What I didn’t count on was you being an idiot. A loveable idiot that we all adored, but a stupid, self-sacrificing idiot nonetheless. For a while, I thought I’d been wrong and then, when Brad and ‘Tassa got their residencies at the hospital and we went drinking, ‘Tassa let it spill. Don’t blame her, you know how she get’s once she’s got a couple in her. You loved him, you just thought it would ruin the friendship if you told him and he didn’t feel the same way or, if you started a relationship and broke up, it would do the same._

_“Newsflash, Tony, he adores you as much as you adore him and you both pine about as subtly as crying puppies whose owners left for the store. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it before. I’m hoping you two get your heads in the game while I’m away and that these letters come after you two have gotten together. But if not, here’s your sign.”_

Tony drops the letter on the table and when he looks up he comes face to face with the startled azure eyes of the man across the table. “Is it-” They started at the same time, and then subside.

“Do you?” Brad asks and, for the first time in a long time, Tony hears the uncertainty in his voice. Tony’s own smile as he nods is a little wobbly but it’s so worth it to see Brad’s face come alight. Tony could feel his own smile lightening and growing bigger. Brad reached a tentative hand across the table and Tony twined fingers with him, giggling a little hysterically when he receives a squeeze in return.

Brad’s hands are strong but soft, marks of his job as an emergency doctor and they’re a sharp contrast to Tony’s own calloused palms, but Brad just smiles back at him and, if they’re both a little delirious with giddy joy, neither of them says a thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their plane lands in the dead of night, for which Tony is grateful, happy is waiting for them at the private airfield with the limo already warmed up and waiting. Tony’s cradling the flag case close to his chest and Brad had one arm looped around his waist. While they had agreed to keep their budding relationship quiet for the time being, mainly to spare Brad the press, keeping it a secret from Pepper and Anatassia would be near impossible.

Anatassia had found them in Tony’s room _(“Can I lay with you for a while?”, “Of course, you don’t have to ask.”)_ and had awoken them with an excited screech, which had led to calling Pepper and telling her the news, which gained another excited exclamation. 

Pepper was waiting for them inside the limo and she greeted each of them warmly. Their grief was still visible, but toned down and tempered slightly. She patted Tony’s knee, filled him in one what had happened while he was away and, before he knew it, they were in front of Anatassia’s brownstone. They hugged and promised to call each other and Anatassia exited the limo into the arms of her waiting boyfriend.

They dropped off Brad next and both he and Tony were reluctant to let each other go so soon. They didn’t kiss, not really, but Brad leaned over and rubbed his nose against Tony’s gently and squeezed his hand, promising to visit again as soon as he was settled back in at the hospital and call when he could. He left, closing the door behind him and Tony sank back into the seat, cradling the case closer.

Pepper patted his knee consolingly and did her best to distract him until they arrived at the tower. Tony was only too happy to slide out of the limo and stagger into an elevator, where Jarvis greeted him warmly, as warmly as the AI could anyway. “Take me to my office, Jarvis.”

_“Of course, sir. But I feel I must warn you that the Avengers are on the same floor, watching a movie and, now that they have been made aware of your return, demand to speak with you at once.”_ Tony simply hummed. He’d put his office on the same floor as the livingroom for the sheer purpose of accessibility for the few times he used it. Let them demand all they wanted, he had more important things to take care of.

His arrival on the communal floor was met with a flurry of voices, tossing questions at him with speed, but he ignored them and brushed past to the solid door of his office. He was being followed but he didn’t care and he breezed into his office, Jarvis turning on the light as he entered. One of the shelves of his bookshelves was empty and, leaning up on his toes, he reverently placed the flag case in the center, the tags wrapped around his wrists glinting in the light. The noise behind him stopped and he ran a careful hand over the dark wood, brushing away microscopic dust.

There’s a twist in his heart, one he knows will always be there when he thinks of his fallen friend, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Robert, even from beyond the grave, helped one of Tony’s greatest dreams come true. He drops down onto the flat of his feet.

“Thank you, Robert.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They give it a few months, he and Brad, before they even think about making the relationship public. Still nobody put Pepper and Anatassia know, but that’s okay for them. The months give them a chance to learn the ins and outs of being in a relationship with each other, and Pepper and Anatassia find amusement in their besotted fumbling. 

For both of them, its their first “real” relationship, one that they want to make work. Both are tactile, and love touching the other. For Brad, it’s things like snuggling on the couch when it’s just them watching a movie, sharing the same bed when they stay over at each other’s houses and holding hands over meals.

For Tony, it’s small, almost unnoticeable things. Walking shoulder to shoulder down a hall or street, brushing arms when they pass, the way they don’t ever really kiss, instead almost always just brushing noses a few times, eyes bright and smiling.

When Brad comes over and Pepper tells him he’s been down in the lab for more than forty-eight hours, the rest of the team watched, amazed, as Brad coaxes him out with only a bowl of mac’ n’ cheese and a glass of milk. Tony leaves little things, all of them homemade with Brad or hides them when they’re going to be away from each other. When Tony leaves for business trips, Brad always wakes up with something on Tony’s pillow. Sometimes it’s a single flower, a wooden celestial dragon like his mask portrayed or little animals crafted of scrap metal.

Brad does much the same. When Tony’s goes into the office for the day and works himself down and forgets to eat, a delivery of his favorite foods always shows up with a tiny note tucked in the bag or box, with a reminder that he needs to eat.

They do little things for each other when they stay over. If Brad’s had a long day, Tony cooks something hearty (he knows how to cook dammit) and then gives him a foot massage while Brad watches his favorite shows. 

When Tony’s stressed or his ear or chest start to bug him Brad makes him sit on the floor in front of him, and scratches small circles behind his ears and across the back his neck, down to his chest over his shirt, humming quietly and calling him _“katje”_ , his kitten, a teasing name for the “purring” sound Tony would make after a few minutes of the treatment.

They don’t have sex.

It’s low on both of their lists, and they’re just as happy to fall asleep, curled together in the same bed. Brad earns the name _“imajte”_ , Bear, from the way he holds Tony like he’s a teddy bear and there’s been more than one weekend where they do nothing but spend the day wrapped in each other’s arms.

After four months, they decided to make it public. There wasn’t going to be a press conference, no big announcement. They just decided that they didn’t need to keep their dates so secluded anymore. Tony would randomly appear at the hospital with lunch, they would walk down the street hand-in-hand. Simple things. It takes less than a week before they figure it out.

Tony woke up one morning, huffing to find Brad’s side of the bed empty. In the background, Jarvis was rattling off the weather, cold and snowy as it had been for several weeks already, and his AI tells him that Brad was in the communal kitchen with the rest of the team. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair shorts and a wifebeater and scooped Inari up from the foot of the bed, making his way to the elevator. He was still half asleep and the first thing he did when he arrived was deposited inari on the ground in front of his water dish and then grabbed a mug from where they hung over the coffee maker.

Once he had his cup, he focuses on the people sitting around the table and the noise they make as they talk, found Brad and strode over, leaning down and brushing his nose against the other man’s in their usual morning ritual. Brad merely beams and nuzzles back, but behind him, the conversation had lulled. After a moment of silence, Natasha smirked and threw something in the middle of the table.

“Well, this headline makes a lot more sense now.” She said and Tony looked at it. It was an issue of People, still in its plastic and dominating the front is a massive headline. _“Tony Stark; Genius, Billionaire, Philanthropist...Gay?”_ He read aloud. Below the headline is a picture, a rather candid shot, and one Tony remembers. It was from two days ago, a walk they’d taken in the park. He and Brad are facing each other and smiling. Tony’s wearing a long coat and red and gold snow cap while Brad is dressed much the same, but with a scarf rather than a hat on his head. Brad’s got his arms around Tony’s waist and Tony’s arms are up around his neck and he’s up on his toes, nose-to-nose with the other man.

Tony shrugged his shoulders and Brad looped his arm around his waist, chuckling at Tony’s dismissal. The others were looking at the cover and then back to the couple, who were staring straight-faced back at them. Clint shrugs first, and Tony wasn’t surprised. The relationship between he and Coulson is no big secret at all. Next is Bruce and Natasha, the former offering them his congratulations. Thor booms his own congratulations, which pulled a smile out of Tony. The only holdout was Steve, who was staring at the couple with some consternation.

“Steve?” Tony asks and Steve actually jumps. He seemed to stumble over the words for a moment before he gave them a shaky congratulations. There wasn’t disgust or disappointment in his body language, more like confusion and Tony resolved to talk with his friend later that night.

He wouldn’t get the chance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony got the call right after lunch. He was in the workshop, bent over something or the other when Jarvis informed him that he had a phone call. “Pick it up.” He ordered and sat up when a familiar voice filtered through the speakers.

“Marcie Blackmill. What can I do for you?” He asked and put down his tools, like she could actually see him through the phone line. There was a moment of silence.

“I need the Fox.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Natasha didn’t know when the mission went south. it might have gone okay if they’d had Iron Man there to provide his usual air support, but Stark was off somewhere, taking care of some emergency in Japan.

All she knew was the now, she and the rest of her team are trapped in a giant glass cube with a mad Hydra scientist staring at them like they’re the most interesting things in the world. There were collars around bruce and Thor’s necks, something that kept them weak and from hulking-put respectively, but let them remain lucid and active. 

The scientist was muttering something about blood work and DNA splicing and none of it sounded good, but they’d been searched thoroughly before being put in the cube, so she has no weapons unless one of them gets close enough for her to do something with her hands. The scientist muttered something to an awkward looking bunch of interns, who nodded and brought about several trays filled with several kinds of tools.

He grabbed something off the tray, a massive looking syringe and began making his way to the glass cube, and she tensed, getting ready to spring to whichever teammate’s defense that needs her. But before the man can even approach them, alarms filled the room and three doors burst open. It’s all shock and awe, something she appreciates and she watches with some amusement as four masked assailants enter the room, roaring a promise of bloodshed and pain all along the way.

With a jolt, she gets a look at one of the mystery assailants and can’t help the gasp that escaped her when she sees the dragon mask. What are members of the Raan Do Sivaas doing out here? Her question is answered when she sees another, this one bearing a fox mask, come flying from the left, a sword of all things in his hands and bury the sword in the scientist’s chest. The man laughs loudly, blood spraying from his mouth as he laughed something about being too late.

The fox-masked one snorted and pulled the blade back, swinging once to shear away the blood from the blade and then turned eyes on the cube. Natasha couldn’t help the shiver that made its way through her body when, instead of normal eye color, she came face-to-face with glowing blue eyes. She briefly thinks of the Iron Man’s eyes but shakes the throught out of her head.

The Fox, a name she’s heard whispered in the halls of SHIELD with awe, reverence and fear. There’s no doubt this is the same man Coulson and Clint encountered years before, the way he carries himself, the way those glowing blue eyes survey the room where they’re standing. Fox reaches into the haversack on his left side and pulls something out, which he tosses behind him and is caught by another, this one wearing the mask of a bear. “Get the eyes and hands, Bear. We’re going to need those. Dragon, string him up when Bear’s done. Leopard, watch out backs.”

While the others go about their assigned tasks, Fox approached the control panel for the glass box and ran his hands over the surface, muttering the German commands under his breath until he finds a switch concealed inside of a small glass, flip-up case.

“Open.” He says, and there’s a string of triumph in his voice. He’s about to flip the case up when there the sound of a shuffle behind him and one of his compatriots shouts “Watch out Fox!” a moment too late. One of the fallen guard/interns had come to his feet and has something thin and metallic wrapped around the neck of Fox, pulling tightly. There’s a gurgling sound and Fox slumped against his assailant and, for a brief moment, the guard smirks, certain he’s taken at least one of them out.

The minute the guard’s grip loosens on the wire, Fox surges up and twists out of the grip, but there’s a sound of tearing and something coming loose but it’s quickly covered up when Fox delivers a flat-palmed strike to the guard’s exposed face. Natasha can see the sharp metal spikes, tinted blue and most certainly poisoned climbing spikes, and she watches along with everyone else as Fox shreds the face of his attacker, ribbons of flesh falling away with the glove.

There’s a moment of utter silence as the man seems to comprehend what has happened and Fox and the other assassins are laughing. And then the man screams, and it’s a sound of agony and terror and the team watches in horror as, starting from the wounds, the man’s face begins to melt. Flesh and muscles come away in semi-coagulated liquid globules and soon, the man falls to ground dead, face reduced to nothing but bone.

Fox is muttering something derisive sounding the other assassins are nodding from where the scientist is hung up from a rafter and rope tied about his knee, his face eyeless and with no hands. The team can see now that the mask and hood of Fox’s outfit have come away in the attack, his swept back brunette hair eerily familiar.

Clint has gone terrifyingly quiet from the appearance of the assassins and, when Fox turns around briefly, she finds out why. It’s Tony who stares back at them, eyes still a frightening, pupil-less glowing blue. He doesn't seem to realize he’s been unmasked until Steve lets out something akin to a dying moan and Tony lifts a single finger up to his face. 

When his glove comes into contact with bare skin, his face contorts into such utter rage that everyone flinches back from him. He lets a sound, a bellow a rage one would liken to a dragon’s roar, lose and turns on his feet, leaving the team alone in the room with the dead scientist.


	11. Honor Kills

Coulson finds them all still sitting in the glass cube, staring blankly at the ebony and crimson fox mask that still lay on the floor where it had fallen. His sharp eyes take in the corpses of the fallen guard/interns, the mutilated body of the scientist and arrows that litter the wooden walls and floors, all emblazoned with the black fox he’s grown so used to seeing in his time at SHIELD. He takes all of this in with his usual calm. 

He’d connected the dots long ago, though, to his chagrin he would admit, by accident. SHIELD had been watching Tony since he was old enough to walk. The night Howard Stark had been visited by the jackal-masked assassin was one of the first entries in Tony’s long file, which had been transferred over to Coulson shortly before the Afghanistan incident. For years SHIELD had watched from afar as Tony was trained and, eventually been masked, though at first the lead agent hadn’t been able to put the young man to his mask.

It wouldn’t be until a year after meeting him in Saudi Arabia that SHIELD finally placed Tony as the Fox, and a tiny, lost-among-the-pages-unless-you were-looking-for-it form was slipped somewhere into his file. Coulson hadn’t figured out until he’d been placed to guard Tony while he was making the new element for his Arc Reactor and seen a familiar arrow, half hidden amongst the clutter on one of the lab work tables.

For now though, as medics are carefully leading the rest of the Avengers out of the glass cube, preparing to shuffle them off to the E.D.D Ward for evaluation, debriefing and decompression, he leans down and scoops up the mask, fingers smearing in half-clotted blood. Coulson has nothing but respect for the men and women who wear these masks. They do the dirty work the government can’t, often at the cost of family and friends, their entire lives should their masks come off.

And now, in his hands, is the mask of a man who holds half of the world’s tech in his hands, a well-loved and venerable member of New York, loved by its citizens for the work and protection he’s offered them. 

For the first time in a long time, Coulson feels sick to his stomach.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ride in the SUV back to Kea Memorial Private Practice is tense, but in a fearful way. Brad, his dragon mask sitting in his lap and Aaron, his bear mask hanging about his neck, are pressed into Tony’s side protectively on either side and in the front passenger seat, Anatassia, her leopard mask resting on the dash, is talking rapidly into the phone.

Only an hour before Tony had called Jarvis and locked the workshop down in what Robert had once jokingly called “apocalypse mode”. The suits, which were displayed in alcoves on the wall, were locked in tight by thick Vibrainium sheeting, the suits and arc reactor spares themselves set to self-destruct if anyone but himself, even Brad or Pepper, tried to touch them. As soon as the main workshop was safe, Tony knew Jarvis would do the same to every property SHIELD thought they knew of and even the ones they didn’t, and then Jarvis himself would go dark.

Every person except for the driver in the car was bruised, cut, limping or otherwise injured, hence the visit to Kea Memorial. Anatassia worked there, which would give them access in the dead of night but, not only that. Within the ICU, a small, four room section of the building, was the reason for the previous mission.

Ensconced in one of the rooms, surrounded and guarded by near five dozen assassins and novices, was a young woman, Kelly “Otter” Osborn, only five years Tony’s junior, dying of a terrible wound. 

In the Raan Do Sivaas, there were two types of missions. Those that they took on a daily basis, assassinations both common and specialized, and there were Blood Kills. Blood Kills were rare, a revenge to be visited upon those unfortunate enough to injure or kill a Sunvaar, a hunter, with malice aforethought.

Tony would never know what possessed Dr. Malike to have attempted everseration on the woman, but he knew that the man, and every single one of those that occupied the building, had felt great and terrible fear when they’d swooped in, rage lending vicious accuracy to their attacks. Injury and death is something every assassin is prepared to face, and Kelly had completed her assignment and protected her novice, at the cost of her own life in the face of a hidden assailant.

Tony was honored to be picked for the kill squad. He remembered when Kelly had first come to the Den, a bright-eyed ten year old, and Tony recently masked. She’d said she was going to take the fox mask for her own one day, and Tony had smiled, ruffled her hair and walked away with a soft “can’t wait to see you try” as he left. He’s overseen her fifth mission and been the one to hand her the Otter mask at her ceremony in the absence of her mentor.

He’s brought back when he felt a gentle pressure on his fingers and looked up. Brad’s grin is dim and trembling, and the hand that came to rest on his face, fingers gently wiping away tears, was unsteady. 

Tony doesn’t know why he’s crying. If it’s Kelly’s impending death, the doctor being unable to help her after the infection had set in. 

He doesn’t know if its the fact that the Avengers, his friends, have just seen him melt a man’s face off, and will never again want to see him.

He doesn’t know if its the fact that there’s a very real possibility that he’s about to lose being Tony Stark, being Iron Man.

He doesn’t know if its one of these things or all of these things, but once he realizes what’s happening he tamps down on the feeling violently. There’ll be time to cry later, if at all. For now, Tony’s needed in the here and now. Anatassia ends the call with a sigh and looks back at him. “Marcie will handle it.” Her voice is just barely a whisper, but she’s heard loud and clear and the tension in the vehicle dissipated, if barely.

The driver pulled around the dark back of the clinic and everyone piled out. Tony allowed himself to be shuffled inside, Brad’s hand gentle on his lower back, tense until they were safely inside the clinic and surrounded by even more people, people who would give their all to see Tony safe.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Coulson found Pepper bustling busily around the main penthouse floor when he arrived, sans the rest of the team, but the mask in his hands, wrapped up in an old swathe of cloth he’d found lying around. There are two large duffel bags in the center of the room and a familiar pet carrier, empty for now save a soft looking blanket and Pepper had a piece of paper in hand, muttering to herself and Jarvis.

“Knee brace?” She asks and the AI responds in the affirmative. “Clothes? Spare hearing aid? Melanin patches? Shoes, sandals, socks? Tablet and phone? Dye, contacts, identity papers? Cash and a credit card?” Each question was met with an affirmative and Pepper sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before she whistled sharply. 

Inari’s familiar form came bounding out of the hall and, to Pepper’s soft order of “carrier”, hopped inside, turned around three times and lay down, waiting until Pepper had closed the cage door before putting his head and falling asleep. Pepper made quick work of closing up the duffel bags and was about to lean down to pick them up when Coulson cleared his throat, walking into the room proper.

Her face was curiously blank and Coulson could tell she’s wary of him right now, so he stopped a few feet away from her. “Ms. Potts, I have something that should be returned to Mister Stark as soon as possible.” He gently held out the small bundle and she took it from him, peeling back the wraps to reveal the blood stained mask.

Coulson watched as a strange splash of emotion, something of fondness and yet sadness and fear at the same time, crossed her face as her fingers brushed across the whiskers on the left side. Coulson was about to turn on his heel and leave when Pepper spoke.

“He saved me.” She said and Coulson turned back around to hear what she was going to say. “I couldn’t tell you the night or the year, but it was more than a decade ago, but not by much. I’d been out late with friends, we were going to go and see a movie and I was on my way home. Two guys jumped me from an alley and we’re going to steal my purse, and might have done something worse if he hadn’t shown up. He just...appeared out of the dark and shot them both. But he came to help me and he was so nice.” She carefully wrapped the cloth back around the mask.

“He’s told me, about a couple of the assignments he’s taken, before Brad, when he used to get drunk every night after Afghanistan. He’d wake up, screaming, from nightmares, and he would tell me things from his past, people he’d met, how he trained, assignments and even some of what happened in the cave.” She took a deep breath and looked at Coulson, her eyes going hard and sharp.

“He’s a good man, Agent Coulson. He’s done more for the people then they will ever know. Don’t let the team hurt him. If they can’t accept him for who he is, then you keep them away from him. Am I understood? Because I will do every great and terrible thing within my power to them if any of them hurts him.”

And Coulson only had to glance at the fire and determination in Pepper’s eyes to know it wasn’t an idle threat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The kill squad didn’t even bother with undressing from their uniforms after they were escorted to the hallways that the members of the Order have commandeered. The team was supposed to be going to a room to be checked over by one of the Order’s medics, but they’re forestalled a drawn looking older woman exited Kelly’s room, two orderlies behind her.

“Is there a...’Nio Stark here?” She asked, pulling off the gloves that protected her hands. Everyone turned to stare at Tony as he moved through the group, face smudged with some combination of blood, soot and sweat.

“Me?” He asked and the doctor nodded, stepping aside so the cracked doorway was visible.

“She’s asking for you.” She said and Tony nodded. He peeled off his gloves and handed them to Brad, making for the door, slipping inside. Kelly was laying on the bed and she looked markedly different from when they’d left only hours before. The oxygen mask was gone, as well as the monitoring equipment, leaving the room in an eerie silence. All that remained was an IV in Kelly’s hand, and it hit Tony that Kelly had finally told the doctors that it was time for her to go.

He went to shut the door and was stopped by a sharp sound from the bed. “Leave it.” The voice from the bed said and Tony nodded, leaving the door open for those in the hall to hear as he walked away. She turned razor grey eyes on him and she smiled. “You finish it?” She asked as Tony came to stand next to the bed, grabbing her good hand. She was pale and Tony was sick with what that meant, hidden beneath the blanket.

“It is done.” He assured her, voice formal and Kelly snorted indelicately. She knew he was being formal for the sake of tradition, to giver her grounding. 

“You’ll take care of them, right? My sister and my husband?” She asked and Tony tightened the grasp he had on her hand comfortingly. “Don’t let them mourn too long. Help them get on with their lives.”

“You know I will.” He said firmly and Kelly smiled, eyes dimming a little as she stared at the ceiling blankly.

“Sing for me?” She asked, voice soft and weakening, and Tony was aware of the others pressing in behind him, the rest of Kelly’s class and Tony’s own pressing into the room, the others crowding around the door. “You know the one I want to hear.”

Tony nodded and cleared his throat softly, before humming the opening notes of the song before he started, voice high and yet dark. 

“Lay up nearer, brother, nearer,  
For my limbs are growing cold,  
And thy presence seemeth nearer  
When thine arms around me fold.

I am dying, brother, dying;  
Soon you'll miss me in your berth,  
For my form will soon be lying  
'Neath the ocean's briny surf.

I am going, brother, going,  
But my hope in God is strong.  
I am willing, brother, knowing  
That He doeth nothing wrong.

Hark, I hear the Savior speaking.  
'Tis, I know His Voice so well.  
When I'm gone, no, don't be weeping.  
Brother, hear my last farewell.

Lay up nearer, brother, nearer,  
For my limbs are growing cold,  
And thy presence seemeth nearer  
When thine arms around me fold.”

Behind him, the group filled in the last dying notes as Tony’s voice faded away into the quiet of the room, and when Tony looked down, Kelly’s eyes were closed and her face was smiling. Tony sighed heavily and gently lay Kelly’s hand down. 

“Tell the doctor the time, Anatassia. And tell one of the orderlies to bring me a bowl of warm water and a terrycloth. Someone call the pastor from her church. And don’t talk to the sister or the husband yet. I’ll do that.” His voice was quiet and cold, a contrast to the usual warmth that came with his voice. The room emptied out behind him as he went over to the wall,pulling out a pair of gloves and pulling them on.

He’d just finished removing the IV when the doctor from before entered the room, holding a large bowl of water. “I trust there’s a good reason you’re doing my orderlies’ job, Mister Stark.” She said, but her voice held no heat. Tony looked up as he took the bowl of water. 

“For all intents and purposes, doc, its Nurse Hennesey for now.” He said softly. Tony knew she was a retired army nurse, one of the dozens of plants that ran this clinic, funded as it was by WSC and her eyes sparked with understanding. 

“Very well then. Carry on, Nurse Hennesey.” Tony nodded as he continued his quiet work. He had much to do still.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brad finally managed to get Tony away from anything work or Order related almost three and a half hours after the team had returned. He, Anatassia and Aaron had already had their wounds seen to, showered, changed and eaten something. But he knew for a fact Tony had been going non-stop for more than twenty-four hours before the assignment and now, with the assignment, Kelly’s passing and the ever-looming possibility that his life was about to fall down around his ears.

So he pulled a couple stitch and bandage kits into one of the rooms set aside for overnights for staffers, grabbed an outfit out of duffels Pepper had brought for him and then stalked to the room where Tony was finishing his business with a kindly old priest, who’d dragged himself out of bed at some god awful hour to make arrangements for a lovely woman, and hadn’t even commented on the state of Tony.

Brad made Tony’s excuses and then gently led him into the room, locking the door behind them and then putting him in the middle of the room. Tony was dead on his feet, but seemed determined to keep going until Brad made sound, angry, low in his chest, and Tony seemed surprised before he nodded weakly and stood still. Brad pulled the tabard off first, letting the ebony and crimson fabric flutter to the ground.

“Arms up.” He ordered. When Tony was like this, tired but wanting to push past his limits, the best route was to take a firm hand with him. Brad pulled off the linen shirt and then the chainmail shirt and leather armor, leaving him in the Proto-skin undershirt. “Left leg.” He reached down and pulled the boot off and then did the same to the right. Next he pulled down the linen pants and the scalemail armor that protected Tony’s legs. 

His suspicions about Tony’s exhaustion were confirmed when the genius, usually ready with a smart-ass quip when they did this nightly ritual, was silent. When Brad was done and Tony was left in nothing but the Proto-skin underclothes he wore in the armor and when he was working out, he stopped to look his boyfriend over.

Knuckles abraded, missing a few toenails, cuts on his shoulders and arms and legs and a scary looking burn on his chest near the reactor. His neck was a terrifying mass of blue and black and red. The jerking motion the guard had tried with the wire had obviously been meant to collapse his trachea, and if Tony hadn’t been wearing the chainmail and leather neck guard, the move would have worked.

“Go shower. Your shower bag and a towel are in the red duffel bag. Make sure you’re clean, but be mindful of the injuries.” He ordered. Tony nodded, zombie-like and grabbed the items out of his duffel bag and made for the adjioned room where the shower was. Once Brad was sure Tony was in the shower he left the room after gathering the armor and clothes on the floor. He found one of the novices in the hall, one he was sure worked in the smith, and gently ordered them to see the armor cleaned and polished, the clothes cleaned and stitched.

Once the novice was gone Brad went searching for Anatassia, who’d gone to get food for Tony and coffee for everyone else, and found her sitting in the hallway with the others. They’d agree that, for the night they would stay here and, after the emergency of Tony’s unmasking blew over, Tony would put them up out of town until Kelly’s funeral. She handed him a takeout container, and Brad could smell warm bread and hot meat inside. “Steak stew and rolls with honey butter?” He asked and she nodded. 

“I figured he wouldn’t eat unless it was something he couldn’t resist.” Brad smiled and nodded before went back to the room, where Tony was standing listlessly in the middle of the floor. He’d dried off and slipped into a pair of boxers and Brad gently steered him into a chair after putting the container down. 

“How much does it hurt?” He asked and Tony bit his lips before holding up a hand, all five of his fingers spread out. Brad frowned. A five, but if he wasn’t speaking then his throat must be killing him. “Throat?” He asked gently and Tony nodded. “We’ll ice it down after you eat.” He assured. Starting from Tony’s feet and up he sterilized and bandaged each wound, numbing and stitching where needed. He worked steadily and quietly until he reached the burn.

There were few things Tony feared in the world. Caves and small, dark spaces. Water gathered in anything bigger than a five-gallon bucket. And having the Arc Reactor removed. No one, not even Brad and Pepper, was allowed to touch the reactor. When Brad and Tony shared a bed, Brad was certain to always keep his arms below the reactor. Anatassia, though she was allowed to touch the area near the reactor as his primary doctor, was never allowed to touch the reactor itself.

Brad carefully disinfected the burn, keeping his hands up and clear and then rubbed a soothing salve over the injury. When that was done, he carefully lay the patch over the wound and taped it down, until the edge of his hand brushed the reactor. 

Tony startled violently and made a sound, hurt and scared, deep in his throat, and Brad pulled back as if burned, apology already on the tip of his tongue. Tony surprised him by grabbing his wrist, hands shaking. “Tony...” He said softly, voice quiet. Brad let his hand be guided gently until it was placed gently on over the reactor.

Brad froze, palm resting over cold metal, fingertips resting on warm, scarred skin. He could feel the rapid fluttering of his heart and the heaving of his chest as he tried to breathe through the fear of having someone touch the reactor. Brad didn’t speak, simply twined his fingers with Tony’s and touched their foreheads together.

Brad didn’t move his hand from over the reactor and, slowly but surely, Tony calmed down. After about twenty minutes Tony gave him a wavering smile and Brad was sucker-punched to see his eyes wet with tears. He leaned forward and kissed his lips chastely, gently and squeezed his hand gently. “You did great, kitten.” He praised and Tony smiled softly. Normally Tony would brush off the praise, but for once, Brad was glad he just let it slide.

With Tony all bandaged up, Brad pressed the still hot stew into his hands and cleaned up while Tony ate and then dressed himself. And when all was said and done, Brad climbed into the bed and held his arms open until Tony was tucked up against his chest, head tucked under Brad’s chin. Brad sighed heavily and ran his fingers through inky hair. 

“We’ll figure it out Tony. It’s all gonna be okay.” He murmured and Tony nodded numbly against his partner’s chest, arms tightening just a fraction more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The following evening the SHIELD HQ was all abuzz with chatter, the air tense. The Avengers had been cleared to leave the main decompression ward, but were confined to the building itself. They were eating dinner in one of the lounges when four junior agents entered, so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t see the team. 

“Do you know when they’re gonna get here?” One asked, voice high with anticipation. The team turned to look at the small group of agents, interest peaked.

“Word is, the Director’s going to meet them at at nine. They’re coming to talk to the WSC!” Another barked. “Apparently there’s going to be five of them. Four elites and the Leader, personally!”

“Are you sure they’re not here to enact a regime change?” Another voice, followed by the sound of a loud smack, like someone’s hand contacting the back of another person’s head.

“Idiot! They’re assassins, not political anarchists. And if they were here to do _that_ I’m certain the Director wouldn’t meet them at the front door!” One growled and that got the attention of the team. Steve stood up and cleared his throat.

“What’s this going on now?” The agents looked at Steve wide-eyed before one, a burly looking fellow, answered him. 

“It’s all over the base. Five members of the Raan Do Sivaas are coming here, tonight! Four of the most elite and the Leader! Rumor is, one of them was recently unmasked, and the meeting with the WSC is to figure out what’s going to happen to the unmasked assassin. Person must be pretty high profile for all the cloak and dagger that’s going on.” He said, apparently not noticing that a majority of the team had gone pale. 

“When is this supposed to happen?” Clint asked from the table, coffee cup in hand. The same guy answered.

“Within the next twenty minutes. All of the agents with less than a year and a half of work have been cleared off the lower levels.” The man answered before, cups in hands, the small group of junior agents left. The team looked at each other before vacating their seats. The trek to the entrance level was easy and the team situated themselves against a wall with a good view of the entranceway. In the middle of the large anteroom stood Director Fury, flanked behind and on either side by Maria Hill and Coulson.

They came from nowhere, literally. Five wraiths from the dark on either side of the door, in animal masks and with glowing eyes of every color, green, blue, red, gold and mercury. Even as they were coming through the door they were ranking up. In the front, a tall womanly figure in a wolf mask with shining golden eyes.

The two behind her, a leopard with green eyes and a bear with red eyes and, behind them a blue-eyed fox and a mercury-eyed dragon. The room was silent as they glided forward, their footsteps silent on the marble floor until they came to stand across from Fury’s party. The team focused on the Fox, they knew who was behind that mask, but the man didn’t turn in any direction.

“Aak Wolf, a pleasure to have you and your assassins here.” Fury said and the wolf-masked woman turned to stare at him.

“The pleasure is ours, Director Fury. We must thank you for allowing us the use of your facilities. I apologize if we’ve interrupted your base. I understand that the circumstances of this meeting are....strange. But, seeing as how this affects you directly, we figured...semi-transparency would be in order.” Her voice was smooth and lightly accented.

“Understandable. But perhaps you could tell me how to address your assassins, so I don’t step on any toes.” This was Fury, navigating the field of a group of people that had recently taken down an entire science complex and burned half of it to the ground, with some tact.

“You may call me Sunvaar Wolf. Behind me immediately are Bear, Leopard and Dragon. Address them similarly. The one in the Fox mask, you will address him as Sah Sunvaar, in respect for the position he’s earned among our Order.”

“Of course. Behind me are Agent Phil Coulson and Agent Maria Hill. If you’re ready, the meeting room is ready for you.” All five nodded sharply and followed behind the SHIELD group out of the anteroom, leaving the team and the other agents alone. 

There was a moment of silence before conversation picked up. 

“Huh, they weren’t that scary. The entrance was a little dramatic for my tastes.” One agent said as she walked towards the far hallway. The agent next to her laughed loudly. 

“I dare you to say that to their faces. I’m pretty sure any one of those people could knock you out with the flick of a wrist. Did you see the weapons that one with the fox mask was wearing? A sword and a Bo staff! I’m pretty sure he’s not carrying them around for shits and giggles. And you see that bow? Responsible for the deaths of over a ninety people, nearly half of the Fox’s accounted kills, plus all the others he’s probably racked up that we don’t know about.”

That was the last thing the team heard before the team headed towards where the video conference rooms were, anxious to get a glimpse at their teammate, even though some of them didn’t know what to think about the situation.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The meeting was simple and quick and Tony’s head was spinning. He couldn’t leave. Couldn’t get away. Tony Stark and Iron Man were too noticable, had too high of a standing among the city’s people, that for him to even go into hiding temporarily wasn’t an option. And so Tony would have to stay as a member of the Avengers, had to try and work _something_ out with the team and make it work.

When the meeting was done and the monitors off, Tony removed his mask. They knew, there was no reason for him to wear it now. Being maskless in front of the WSC would have been seen as a terrible insult. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as cool air brushed against his face, pushing his hood down and running his fingers through his hair.

“Awfully kitted out there, son.” Tony looked up and came face to face with Fury. He smirked and ran his hand down the scabbard of _Haru Urufu_ , Spring Wolf, the name he’d given his sword after blooding it three times, as tradition mandated.

“I know how to use everything you see, One-eye. Tread lightly.” He snarked, though there was no heat in it. Maria snorted from the side and even Coulson smiled briefly while the other masked assassins behind him chuckled lively.

“What are you going to do, Stark?” Hill asked from her spot and Tony looked blankly at the wall before a hand on his shoulder brought him back. He looked up to meet the familiar mercury eyes of his dragon-masked lover. Tony was aware that his own eyes still glowed Vibrainium-blue and he smiled and it must have had an eerie effect because Hill shuddered lightly.

“I guess I’ll....talk to the team. If they can’t handle it, they can get out of my tower. If none of them can handle it, then the only time they’ll ever have to see me is as Iron Man, or a passing glance if I ever come here for business.” He said. Fury nodded.

“Fair enough.” Was all he said. Tony took a deep breath and refastened his mask in place and pulled his hood up. He was just about to lead the way out when Hill’s voice came from behind him. 

“Hey Stark?” She asked and Tony turned to look at her, head tilted in question. “How do you breath in that thing?” The question took her off guard, but when he realized what she’d said, he laughed brightly and walked out the door.

And headlong into Steve Rogers.


	12. I Fight the War of a Thousand Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for how long this took. Some stuff happened over the holidays that required my attention. But here it is, the next chapter.
> 
> Be mindful that, during the confrontation at the end, sensitive subject are discussed in an argumentative format. Although Steve has been in the present for almost over a year, some of the intricacies of the court ans justice system, as well as the "war on terror" escape him still.

The room came to a freezing halt, and Tony drew himself up, like a wary dog, shoulders tensing and back straightening as he leveled cold blue eyes on the rest of the team. No one moved or said anything and Tony was about to turn on his heel when a soft hand touched his shoulder. He looked back, coming face to face with Marcie’s mask and he sighed, the unspoken message loud and clear.

With slightly twitching fingers he gripped the mask’s muzzle and gently pulled it away, revealing his expressionless face and he could _feel_ the unease floating off the rest of the team as they looked at him. “Rogers. Barton. Romanov. Banner. Thor.” He greeted each with a formal nod and received varying looks of what, achingly, looked like despair.

Brad had once pointed out to Tony, years ago just after he’d taken the company over, that Tony had two faces. Tony-in-front-of-the-media and Tony-at-home. For years they’d only seen Tony-at-home, warm and happy, always with a quick joke and a warm smile.

Brad _hated_ Tony’s media appearance. With the fake smile and cold eyes, the meanly sarcastic, cutting words, he just wasn’t Tony that way. It was his default attitude for people he didn’t know and didn’t trust. Tony never really trusted you until he smiled for you, really and truly, that small, warm expression that Brad cherished more than anything.

The Avengers had gotten a brief glimpse of that, months after they’d moved into the tower. And now they were back to this, the Tony who would smile as he handed you a new product, but would never actually mean anything with any sincerity.

“I’ll see you all back at the tower, I have some...business to attend. Unless of course you’re uncomfortable living with me now. I’ll have your things delivered if that’s the case.” Silence was his answer and he sighed a little, having not expected a response. “We’ll talk about this later.” It was such a rapid fire delivery, made in a voice of ice, that none of the team had a chance to respond before Tony was gone, the rest of the team behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride back to the tower was quiet for the small group of assassins and their leader. Everyone had pulled off their masks, removed contacts and was talking quietly amongst themselves. The small group, along with Kelly’s husband and sister, accompanied by the husband and daughter of the sister, were all staying at the tower until the funeral, while everyone else was in hotels on Tony’s dime. The tower, when they arrived, was dark but for a soft white night light in the halls.

They split to go to their individual rooms, and Brad tugged Tony along to the master suite. Inside, they completed their nightly ritual, devesting each other of chain and leather armor, which was hung on a rack in the closet, and linen clothes before climbing into pajamas. Brad, once he’d fallen into bed, noticed Tony’s frozen form and sighed. The other man was obviously too keyed up to sleep.

“At least lay down for a little bit.” He murmured, already half-asleep. “You’ve had a long day and you’re still healing.” Tony nodded and fell into the bed next to Brad, heaving a loud sigh as he relaxed. Brad intertwined their fingers, murmured good night, and fell into sleep, aware that he’d wake up alone in a few hours.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

True to his predictions, when Brad awoke at half past midnight, Tony’s side of the bed was empty, but still warm. He hadn't been gone too long, then. “Jarvis, did he sleep at all?” he asked, rolling out of bed and scratching his chest.

_“Sir slept for one hour and forty-three minutes before he was awoken for reasons unknown. He is now with Agent Barton, in his lab.”_ Brad blinked slightly. He’d been aware that Barton had known about Tony’s secret but he, as Anatassia and Marcie had, had feared that the performance at the Hydra base would sour Barton on Tony. But maybe not.

Deciding to take the round-about way to check on his wayward lover, Brad stumbled down to the communal kitchen which was, thankfully, empty of everyone but himself and Inari. He stopped to the scritch the little fox behind the ears and then went to the cupboard, pulling down two mugs and a few tea bags. 

He set some water to boiling and was about to turn around when a voice came from the other side of the kitchen. “How long have you known?” The voice asked and Brad turned to see Natasha standing the other doorway, arms crossed and face blank. Brad snorted and looked at her. 

“Known what?” he asked innocently and Brad felt a flash of inner satisfaction when her face, briefly, so briefly, flashed with nerves and fear. But soon she drew herself up again, even that momentary flash of emotion in front of someone she doesn’t trust unconditionally angering her further. But she didn’t say anything and the silence stretched between them. Brad turned when he heard the water boiling and, as he’s poured the water over the waiting teabags, he spoke.

“I’ve known Tony since we were four years old, when our mentor’s brought us together to visit.” Was all he said, letting the silence hang so the information could sink in. He knew when it had because she gasped, if only slightly, a sound of barely audible shock.

“You...” She said and Brad smiled, turning around with both mugs in his hands. She was standing a few feet away, staring at him and he smiled, a ruthless baring of teeth.

“You may better know me as _Slepkava no zvaigznēm_ , Assassin of the Stars. I have to thanks the people of Latvia for that title. Suits me well, don’t you think?” He asked before he brushed past her on the way out, cataloguing her blank face, the anger burning behind a veil in her eyes and he smirked.

This might be fun after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony hadn’t meant to doze off after lying gown with Brad, and truthfully, wasn’t too surprised when he woke up from his impromptu nap shortly after. He’d carefully extracted himself from Brad’s hold and rolled to his feet, wincing at the pull on the wound on his chest. He couldn't wait for the damned thing to heal. He strippped out of his sleep clothes and into his usual lab clothes, old battered t-shirt and jeans and made his way downstairs. 

“Jarvis, fire up the forge. I’m gonna get some work done.” He said as he left his room, bare feet silent on the carpet. His AI responded that it was done and Tony nipped into the private kitchen on his floor to snag a cup of coffee, which jarvis had started as soon as Tony had woken up. Once he had the cup in hand, his ride down to his lab floor was quick.

Tony’s personal lab, the one he went to didn’t let anyone expect his most trusted of people in, took up an entire floor of the tower. Tucked away in the far corner of the floor was the forge, a chunk of the room ready for him at his word to work. Tony had gotten an order yesterday from Marcie that needed to be filled. Nothing complicated, a few bows and swords and a spear. he stopped at the door that separated the forge from the rest of the floor, toed on the heavy work boots, and stepped inside.

The room was hot and the coals in the forge were just starting to change color from the heat, so Tony took the chance to gather his tools. A hammer off the wall, metal ingots, four long strips of Balsaoak. He filled the troughs with water and filled on with slicking oil while lighting the element under the other. he grabbed knives and tongs down and two molds from off the wall, situating them where he could reach. 

Satisfied with the temperature of the forge he took one of the ingots and placed it in the center, waiting until it turned orange with heat before pulling it out, placing it on the anvil and striking it until it was longer and thinner than before. A quick dunk in the water, then back on the flames. As he repeated this process he felt himself sinking, deep into the gunmetal grey part of his mind, where no thoughts passed, where he was at peace, deep in a task of instinct.

Tony lost time like this rarely. Occasionally, working on the suit or puzzling over some new equation or another. Sometimes just standing on the roof with Brad or Inari or Pepper, looking at the stars they could see from so high up. Tony almost wished he could do this more often, lose himself so, but he couldn’t afford to. Not now. Maybe not ever. The atmosphere of the tower reflected the tension of the revelation of his identity, throwing everyone into unease. 

Tony hoped that, with time, the team might get used to it, might be able to push it to the back of their minds and move on with their lives. Well, Tony could hope.

“Stark.” The voice pierced the veil of his peace and he whirled, hammer up and ready to strike the intruder, but he stopped short when he noticed Clint standing a few feet away from him, hands up and at his side in the common “I come in peace” gesture. Tony breathed deeply a second before lowering the hammer and taking the metal out of the flames, turning back to his work.

“Katniss.” He says lightly, testing the waters with his usual nickname as the rhythmic clang of metal fills the room again. There’s silence for a moment before Clint speaks again.

“Ya’ know, we never did find you your own nickname.” He said casually and Tony felt tension he didn’t even know he was holding in his shoulders leech out, entire body relaxing again into his task.

“I guess we didn’t.” He said, bringing the hammer down once more before dunking it in the trough and then back on the flames. He set the hammer and tongs down, turned around and grabbed the four strips of wood, laying them gently in the now-boiling water of the second trough. Clint watches him as he works and the silence is nice, not heavy and fearful like Tony thought it might be.

“So your bow.” Clint says out of nowhere and Tony smiled briefly to himself. Of course he would ask about the bow. 

“What about it?” He asked, using the tong to make sure the strips sat evenly in the water.

“Why a wooden one? And why a longbow? I mean, doesn’t that get in the way of what you’re doing the rest of the time? Like with the running and the jumping and the....” Clint makes a motion with his hand, a sort of wave and flick and Tony takes that to mean “When he’s using his other weapons to assassinate people”.

“Why do you think your carbon fibre bow is better, Katniss? Do you think that, because it was machine made by scientists at SHIELD, which, by the way, haven't forgiven you for choosing their bow over mine yet, by a “superior material”, that it’s flawless? That you get a better shot from it? That, because it has so few, or none at all, imperfections, that it makes it better? It’s a lie.” He said firmly, looking up from his work again.

Before Clint could respond, Tony was speaking again. “I chose to make my bows of wood because of the imperfections. Because I have to correct all of my shots before I make them, I am a better archer for it. I chose the longbow because of the reach, because of the symbolism it holds.” Tony turned and grabbed another strip of wood off the wall, turning back and dropping it into the roiling boil.

Clint stared at him for awhile, watching Tony work with unfettered interest. And then he stepped forward as Tony reached for the strips in the water again.

“Show me?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That’s how the team found them the next morning, still sequestered in Tony’s lab, hands working carefully over a long strip of wood each, bending and shaping and smoothing it to their wills. Brad had found them last night, but left them alone after seeing them working hard, deciding it was fine for the night. They stood in front of the glass watching.

Tony’s speaking something, it sounded like Macedonian, his voice rising and falling as he moved his hands over the strip, knife slowly peeling down the wood. Clint was answering him, voice lower than Tony’s own, but following the words like he spoke them all the time. Clint’s own project, from what they could see, wasn’t as trim or put together as Tony’s but it was a reasonable facsimile. Tony stopped and Clint stopped with him and Tony showed him over to a rack on the wall, where three other wood strips were sitting.

Once both strips were on the rack, Tony left Clint to lock it down and went to empty the troughs after throwing a bucket of oil and water over the coals in the forge. The could just make out the tail ends of the conversation as Clint and Tony drew nearer to the doors. “Now we’ll leave them in the rack for a day, and tomorrow we will shape them again. We’ll repeat for a week, and then layer them with horn to protect them.”

Clint was nodding at Tony and Natasha was surprised to see genuine interest in his eyes. When they reached the door, Tony toed of the boots he’d put on hours before and his face lit up when he saw brad approaching with a steaming cup of coffee and a donut. “You’re an angel.” He said, snapping them up and offering an eskimo kiss in exchange.

Finally he turned his attention to the team and sighed, an actual audible sound. “We should probably talk, shouldn’t we?” A few nods. “Alright. Meet me in the lounge. I need to change. Clint, you should too, incase any of the flaking from the bows got on you.” The archer nodded and accompanied Tony into the elevator.

Once he’d switched into a more intact version of his earlier lab clothes, Tony wandered downstairs, coffee still in hand. Brad topped off his mug before they went into the lounge, settling into the loveseat and looking at the others. 

“So, there’s not really much to say, I would think.” Brad started and Tony held up his hand and Brad snorted but subsided. 

“You have questions.” It was a statement in and of itself and the team nodded. “So ask them, but I reserve the right to tell you to fuck off.” The expletive was sharp but the team nodded again and Tony motioned his assent for them to begin. Bruce spoke first.

“Your Order, from what we understand, is controlled by the government. they dictate your targets, fund you and protect you from retaliation.” He grew quiet and Tony waited for him to continue. “When I was on the run, I got shot and had to hide out in Africa for a month. When i first got there a man in a dog mask stopped me and gave me medical help. And he told me he was a government assassin. Why didn’t he kill me?” It was a blunt question and one Tony could understand.

“We’ve never been ordered after you. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even come across the desk, let alone for an assignment. Dog is just like that, he helps people and to him, you were just an injured civilian that needed help.” He explained. Bruce seemed to mull it over and then nodded, a strange but, beatific smile stealing over his face, small though it was.

“Then I don’t care.” Tony was shocked by Bruce’s dismissal of his assassin standing but, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tony accepted the acceptance and motioned for the next question. They were mundane, most of them, more questions about his training, where he had traveled and his experiences. 

Tony’ told them what he could and, slowly, the team seemed to be accepting that Tony was Tony, just with a little something extra. Finally, Tony turned to Steve, who had been quiet all during the conversation. “Steve?” He said. The supersoldier turned to look at him, blue eyes hard and then looked around himself at the rest of his team.

“How can you all be okay with this? He killed half a dozen men right in front of us and then _laughed!_ ” He said and Tony could feel himself bristling. He rose to his feet and put the mug down on the coffee table in front of him. 

“I’ve killed _hundreds_ by hand Rogers, and a million more with my weapons, all in the service of my country and my government, all in the memory of my father. So has every soldier who have ever wielded a gun on the battlefield or piloted a plane that dropped a bomb somewhere in the desert. We do what you and the courts can not. We wipe the scum of the earth out of the picture, all so you and all the others can live comfortable happy lives without crime lords smuggling cocaine in _baby formula!_ ” His voice was rising.

“And you’re not one to talk. How many people died by your hand, by your shield, in the war Rogers? How many families lost husbands and brothers and fathers who thought they were fighting for what was right?” There was a silence in the room and then Steve was on his feet, nose to nose with Tony.

“I fought and killed in a war where millions of people were being killed just because of who they were. How am I not one to talk?” Steve hissed and Tony snarled. 

“How did your parents let this happen, Tony? Were you such a terrible child that Howard and Maria dumped you off to be raised by a group of murderers? What would they say today? Hmmm? To see their son like this?” Tony’s eyes flashed dangerously and Brad surged forward, snapping his hand around Tony’s wrist. 

_“Tony.”_ He said firmly, trying to soothe the situation before it escalated to physical violence. Tony subsided a little, taking a firm step back and Steve almost sneered at him.

“Is that it?” He asked and Tony snarled again and, before Brad or anyone could stop him, Tony swung out and punched Steve, fist hitting him in the nose. Steve stumbled back, seemingly surprised by the strength Tony had in his one hand and then looked up as Tony towered over him. 

“If you ever, and I mean _ever_ , insinuate that my parents, that my mentors and my friends, were anything but the saints and amazing people that they are ever again, I will end your existance. And fuck the consequences!” He shouted.

“I kill the men who kidnap women and sell them for sex against their will. I kill the people who abuse children for their pleasure, people they should trust like their priests. I kill the people who would poison a small town’s water supply to make a buck. I kill the people who would see every innocent person dead for their _pleasure_ or for _science_.” He panted, trying to maintain what composure he had left.

“My _Zeymah_ , my brothers and my sisters, we keep the people safe when the courts and government and the police fail. Because that's what we chose to do. Because that's what needs to be done.” Tony opened his mouth to begin saying something else, but the sound of little feet pitter-pattering on the carpet, followed by barking pulled him away, his eyes landing on the door.

Standing in the doorway, clutching a blanket to her skinny form, was Emily, Kelly’s sister’s daughter. Inari was by her leg and it was clear the little girl had just woken up. Judging by the clock, which read just past seven in the morning, she hadn’t meant to be up quite yet.

“Uncle Tony?” She whined. “I hearded yelling. Are you mad?” She asked and Tony softened his features, padding over and scooping the little girl up, settling her on his hip. 

“I’m sorry Princess, I didn’t mean to wake you. No, I’m not mad, we’re just wrestling and we got out of hand.” Emily nodded and yawned.

“Silly Uncle, it’s too early to wrestle. Mr. Sun isn’t even all the way awake.” She said and Tony smiled, making a show of looking at the window and gasping. 

“So it seems. I have an idea. How about we go and lay on the big comfy couch for a while and I’ll put on your favorite violin music and when your mommy and daddy wake up, we’ll make banana pecan pancakes. Sound good?” He asked and the little girl gave him a tired, but happy smile.

“Really?” She asked and Tony nodded. 

“Really really.” Emily smiled and lay her head back on his shoulder.

“Okay.” She said, already drifting back to sleep. Tony cast one fond look to Brad and then a blank look at the rest of the team before he left, walking carefully and quietly down the hall, as not to wake his precious bundle.

Brad sighed once he was sure Tony was out of earshot and rose to his feet. “I suppose I need to go shopping for groceries.” He said warmly and left the room in a stunned silence.

So much for this being fun.


	13. All I can ask For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, and the story is meant to end like this.

The tower was silent for the rest of the day. Clint and Natasha were away at SHIELD with Thor for the day, Bruce was hidden away in his lab and Steve had sequestered himself in his room after the fight. Tony himself had spent the day down with R&D, going over several more designs for clean energy.

All the while, the tower sat in stasis, silent, waiting for its inhabitants to return. Steve, still ensconced on his floor, paced and though, mind going a thousand miles per hour, combing over the past, what he knew about Tony and the whispers he’d heard or the deadly assassin, The Fox. 

 

If anything Tony had said during the fight had been remotely true....Steve didn’t know what to think. Finally he sat at his desk and looked up at the ceiling, a habit borne from his first few weeks in the tower, though he knew he didn’t need to do so. “Jarvis?”

_“Yes, Captain Rogers?”_ The AI responded, voice cool and professional. 

“Can you bring up the official file SHIELD has on The Fox?” He asked. He received no answer, but, after a moment, a holographic file appeared on the screen his desk supported and, slowly, but surely, he began to read his way through the file, all the way from the beginning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony was tired. He ached too. The funeral had been long and cold and Emily had cried the entire time, clutching her mother and father and pulling at the heartstrings of everyone in attendance. Tony had politely declined returning to the den for the mourning ceremonies, and no one called him on it, already aware that he was trying to quell the storm back home.

Brad had returned though and that left Tony alone for the week. He’d been prepared for awkwardness or even downright animosity if he ran into Steve. But he didn’t. Steve stayed in his room and everyone else seemed to slowly be moving on.

Apparently his “new” status gained him the right to join Clint and Natasha in their spy games(Clint called him Rudolph for days before Tony finally got fed up and scored a shot with a nerf dart to his face) and randomly he would find himself dodging projectiles or random attacks from behind furniture or from the ceiling.

Bruce still joined him for “Science!” in the big lab between their personal lab floors, and it only took two days before they managed to set things on fire with their usual pizzaz. Thor, more than once, sparred with Tony, taking up the shield to hold while Tony wailed away to his heart’s content, even getting tips from the thunder god as he went.

But still, for almost a week, no one saw Steve. Until, one day, he emerged from his room and stalked down to Tony’s lab, a gloomy shadow of resignation hanging over his head.

Tony was alone in the communal lab, carefully looking over a formula Bruce had left for him before the other scientist had gone to take a nap. Steve knocked on the door and Tony turned around, not even bothering to put down the halo-pen he was clutching. 

There was a moment of silence, thick with tension before Steve spoke. “I will never agree with what you’ve done.” He said slowly. Tony drew himself to snarl a retort, but Steve continued before he could. “But I can agree that it....needed to be done.” The last part sounded strained, like it was being forced out with pliers and Tony shrugged.

“Well I guess that’s all I can ask for, isn’t it?” He asked, turning around and resuming his study, before Steve left him there, alone with his work.


End file.
